


God only knows

by pook



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 03:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15476160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pook/pseuds/pook
Summary: After Boyd rescues a woman, he can’t get the terrified look on her face out of his mind. He and the team try to find out why. Set sometime after season 5.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Boyd rescues a woman, he can’t get the terrified look on her face out of his mind. He and the team try to find out why. Set sometime after season 5.
> 
> Originally posted on FFnet on 6 August 2008.

God only knows  
Pairing: Grace/Boyd  
Rating: T  
Summary: After Boyd rescues a woman, he can’t get the terrified look on her face out of his mind. He and the team try to find out why. Set sometime after season 5.  
Author’s notes: Special thanks to shadowsamurai83 for the beta  
Disclaimer: Waking the Dead belongs to the BBC. I’m taking them for a kick and a giggle but promise to be back before the main game.

\- - -

Boyd tugged at his shirt cuff. It looked like the annual ordeal was nearly over.

 

ACC Dyson tapped the final file on the table before adding it on top of the pile of folders that they’d previously finished.

 

For two and half hours, he’d endured a grilling that passed as the unit’s performance review by that infernal woman. And somehow he’d managed to keep his cool, not having to resort to counting to ten or reciting the Tempest. Grace would’ve been proud of him.

 

Anticipating the end of their meeting, he tidied up his similar stack of files and put his pen in his suit jacket. He wanted to take his glasses off as well but didn’t get the chance.

 

“Not so fast, Detective Superintendent.” Dyson smiled knowingly. She might just wrong foot the famed DSI yet. “We’re not quite finished.” She’d gone through all of his team’s reviews looking for mistakes but not finding any, much to her frustration. She still had one more card to play.

 

Peter groaned audibly, unable to hide the mixture of disappointment and aggravation over still being there.

 

A flash of anger swept across Dyson’s face and she sneered, “Do you have to go out or something?”

 

“No, ma’am.” Boyd clasped his hands together. He hadn’t meant to voice his displeasure about being in her presence any longer than he had to but he couldn’t help it. He was frustrated, tired, wanting a piss and in desperate need of a decent coffee, having the caffeine withdrawal headache to prove it.

 

A smug grin grew on Dyson’s face and she added, sarcastically, “Or should I have said, ‘Do you have a date with Grace?’” One of her friends had seen them out together and passed on the information to her as payback.

 

“Pardon me, ma’am?” He understood what she’d said, but he just couldn’t believe it. What did his private life have to do with her?

 

“You heard.” She sniggered, pleased to finally get a reaction out of Boyd. All morning he’d been cool and collected, despite her best efforts and his legendary reputation for getting angry.

 

There was no way he’d deny his relationship with Grace but equally he wasn’t going to tell this officious bitch either. “It is none of your business.” Seething, he dropped the acknowledgement of her superior rank. She didn’t deserve his respect. What he had with Grace was between him and her, not Dyson or the Met.

 

“Yes, it is, if it affects the running of the unit.”

 

“No, it does not.” With a deep threatening voice, he growled every single word. What they had hadn’t affected the unit, as they’d always been professional at work. And she wouldn’t know anyway, stuck at the Yard, as far away from real policing as possible. In his mind, he repeated that line from the Tempest, in an effort not to lose control and punch the cow, doing it for Grace and himself.

 

“I think it is my business. And I’ll be reporting it to Sir ….” She was going to have threatened to go the Commissioner, when the man himself walked in.

 

“Hello, Peter.” Commissioner Havering smiled as he came through the door but he stopped in his tracks, the tension and hostility in the room plainly obvious. It wasn’t really a surprise, considering their past history. He’d thought it was behind them since they had very little contact. Dyson had been moved sideways to Personal and out of Operations. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

 

“Sir,” Boyd replied respectively, standing up. He had a lot of time for Sir Martin Havering. He wasn’t a fast tracked officer like Dyson, and so he had spent time at the sharp end of policing

 

“Is there a problem?” At least they weren’t shouting at each other, but as neither of them was saying anything, Martin sighed and then pressed further, asking the ACC, “What will you be reporting?”

 

In all time that Dyson had known Sir Martin, he’d never once called her by her first name and she realized the battle was lost. “It’s nothing, sir.”

 

Havering looked at Peter. Something was going on but no one was talking to him about it.

 

“We’re just finished and I was about to leave.” Packing his files into his case, Boyd didn’t even bother to even look at the ACC. He risked another blast from Dyson as she should’ve answered first, being the superior officer, but he needed to get out of there before he said or did something he’d later regret.

 

Martin looked at Dyson, her jaw clenched and her anger barely controlled. She gave him a nod but did not say anything. Boyd looked the same. Maybe it was best to let them go. “All right. I’ll read your reports when the reviews have been completed. You can both go.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” Boyd nodded to Sir Martin and left the office, not even bothering to look at Dyson. The commissioner was no fool and would read his reviews and reports and come to his own conclusions, without being swayed by Dyson’s accusations.

 

Waiting for the lift, Boyd breathed deeply. All his good work keeping calm had gone to waste by that snide little bitch, Dyson. What was her problem? He had no idea. The only time he’d come into contact with her, she’d been removed from the Doyle case by the Director General of Security. It had had nothing to do him, but she’d still found a way to get back at the team, at the time, by denying Spencer’s promotion to DI.

 

And the more he thought about it, the calmer he got. Remembering Grace’s parting words of not letting Dyson get to him, he soon realized that the ACC wasn’t worth it. She’d had a virtual demotion to Personal – only the useless officers were put there while he was at CCU. She was going nowhere while he ran the CCU with a great team he respected. He was very good at his job, but more importantly, he was doing it with a person he loved.

 

By the time he stepped out of the lift, he was fine but in need of a few things. After a visit to the toilet, he left Scotland Yard in search of a decent coffee.

 

After grabbing a coffee and a sandwich from a cafe across the road from St James’ Park, he decided to find a park seat and enjoy a relaxing lunch. It wasn’t like him, but it was such a fine day and he rarely took time for any sort of lunch break, eating at his desk, reading case files. Taking a few moments to relax and enjoy the sun some more before heading back to his car and CCHQ, he watched tourists head over to Buckingham Palace, wondering where they were from, easily picking the Australians from their accents and the Americans from the holiday dress sense.

 

He knew it couldn’t last as he felt his phone ring. It was still set on vibrate. “Peter Boyd.”

 

“It’s Grace. How did it go?” It had been four hours, thinking that enough time had passed for the review to be completed, even for a sanctimonious cow like Dyson.

 

“Tough.”

 

Grace smiled, glad that Peter had said a short but honest answer. “No shouting?”

 

“No, and no Tempest either.”

 

Now that was something she found very hard to believe. “Liar.”

 

He threw an arm up in mock surrender. “Okay. You’re right. Just a few times but no shouting. Really.” There was no point in trying to hide anything from Grace. She knew him too well and would find any number of ways, some painful and others not, to prise it out of him. “That doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to punch her.”

 

“Well, you’re improving. I’m glad you didn’t act on that impulse, although I’m sure she’d have deserved it.”

 

“She did.” Boyd ran his hand through his hair, thinking about whether to tell her about Dyson knowing about them. In the end, he knew there was only one answer. “She knows about us.”

 

“So?” Grace didn’t hesitate. It was just between Peter and her, and she had a fair idea what he was going to say next. Peter was trying to protect her and her reputation. He didn’t give a toss about his own. Bless him, she thought.

 

Boyd smiled; trust Grace to say the right thing. “Thank you but ….” He wanted to protect her.

 

“No buts, Boyd. We’ve been through it. We’re doing nothing wrong.” Grace and Peter had spent years dancing around each other, their attraction apparent, just enjoying the banter and flirting with one another but never acting on it until a year ago, when everything changed after a very difficult case. They’d leant on each other for support and comfort, and eventually admitted they loved each other. Now they were together and couldn’t be happier.

 

“I know … I know. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

 

“I know and thank you, but I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.” Grace leaned back in her chair. It didn’t mean that every now and again she didn’t mind Peter trying to protect her. It was sweet and old fashioned. She just wished it didn’t involve mad men trying to stab and shoot her, recalling the times Peter had nearly been hurt coming to her rescue.

 

“I know you can, but I can’t help myself. I love you.”

 

“I love you too, but I thought we were being professional at work.” For the most part that was true, like now, but since her door was closed and there was no one was in the squad room, it didn’t matter. Spence, Stella and the other officers were at the pub. It was a Met tradition when a unit was having their annual professional review.

 

“We are, but I’m not at work.”

 

“A mere technicality. You’re always on call.”

 

“I’m in St James’ Park.”

 

“Bunking off for the rest of the day then?” Grace laughed.

 

“No. I’m just having lunch in the sunshine.”

 

“Lucky you.” Grace envied him, looking at her tepid tea and unappetizing plastic cheese sandwich.

 

“I needed the walk after sitting on my bum for over 3 hours.”

 

“Fair enough. When can we expect you back?” And how long does the rest of the team have to get back before he arrives? She smirked to herself.

 

“An hour.” Peter read her mind. “That’ll give the team time to get back from the pub.”

 

Grace chortled. There wasn’t much that got past DSI Boyd. “See you soon. Bye.”

 

“Bye, Grace.” Peter hung up the phone and headed toward Birdcage Walk.

 

\---

 

After grabbing a coffee and a sandwich from a cafe across the road from St James' Park, he decided to find a park seat and enjoy a relaxing lunch. It wasn't like him, but it was such a fine day and he rarely took time for any sort of lunch break, eating at his desk, reading case files.

 

Taking a few moments to relax and enjoy the sun some more before heading back to his car and CCHQ, he watched tourists head over to Buckingham Palace, wondering where they were from, easily picking the Australians from their accents and the Americans from the holiday dress sense.

 

He knew it couldn't last as he felt his phone ring. It was still set on vibrate. "Boyd."

 

"It's Grace. How did it go?" It had been four hours, thinking that enough time had passed for the review to be completed, even for a sanctimonious cow like Dyson.

 

“Tough.”

 

Grace smiled, glad that Peter had said a short but honest answer. "No shouting?"

 

“No, and no Tempest either.”

 

Now that was something she found very hard to believe. "Liar."

 

He threw an arm up in mock surrender. 'Okay. You're right. Just a few times but no shouting. Really.' There was no point in trying to hide anything from Grace. She knew him too well and would find any number of ways, some painful and others not, to prise it out of him. "That doesn’t mean that I didn't want to punch her."

 

"Well, you're improving. I'm glad you didn't act on that impulse, although I'm sure she'd have deserved it."

 

"She did." Boyd ran his hand through his hair, thinking about whether to tell her about Dyson knowing about them. In the end, he knew there was only one answer. "She knows about us."

 

"So?" Grace didn't hesitate. It was just between Peter and her, and she had a fair idea what he was going to say next. Peter was trying to protect her and her reputation. He didn't give a toss about his own. Bless him, she thought.

 

Boyd smiled; trust Grace to say the right thing. "Thank you but …." He wanted to protect her.

 

"No buts, Boyd. We've been through it. We're doing nothing wrong." Grace and Peter had spent years dancing around each other, their attraction apparent, just enjoying the banter and flirting with one another but never acting on it until a year ago, when everything changed after a very difficult case. They'd leaned on each other for support and comfort, and eventually admitted they loved each other. Now they were together and couldn't be happier.

 

"I know … I know. I just don't want to see you hurt."

 

"I know and thank you, but I'm a big girl. I can look after myself." Grace leaned back in her chair. It didn't mean that every now and again she didn't mind Peter trying to protect her. It was sweet and old fashioned. She just wished it didn't involve mad men trying to stab and shoot her, recalling the times Peter had nearly been hurt coming to her rescue.

 

"I know you can, but I can't help myself. I love you."

 

"I love you too, but I thought we were being professional at work." For the most part that was true, like now, but since her door was closed and there was no one was in the squad room, it didn't matter. Spence, Stella and the other officers were at the pub. It was a Met tradition when a unit was having their annual professional review.

 

"We are, but I'm not at work."

 

"A mere technicality. You’re always on call."

 

"I'm in St James' Park."

 

"Bunking off for the rest of the day then?" Grace laughed.

 

"No. I'm just having lunch in the sunshine."

 

"Lucky you." Grace envied him, looking at her tepid tea and unappetizing plastic cheese sandwich.

 

"I needed the walk after sitting on my bum for over 3 hours."

 

"Fair enough. When can we expect you back?" And how long does the rest of the team have to get back before he arrives? She smirked to herself.

 

"An hour." Peter read her mind. "That'll give the team time to get back from the pub."

 

Grace chortled. There wasn’t much that got past DSI Boyd. "See you soon. Bye."

 

"Bye, Grace." Peter hung up the phone and headed toward Birdcage Walk.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

\---

Ann Black held open the door to her building. “See ya, Helen.” 

 

“I’ll phone you tonight. Bye.” Helen Chandler waved goodbye to her best friend, then continued down the street. She’d just had a very enjoyable lunch with her, chatting about everything and nothing, with the added bonus of watching a group of shirtless young handsome men kick a football around. 

 

Heading back to her office, two blocks further down than Ann’s building, Helen stopped at the intersection and waited for the green light to walk across. 

 

The warm autumn sun had brought so many people out of their offices to have lunch in the park, on top of the tourists that were walking between the Palace and the Parliament. Everyone had smiles on their faces. It was amazing what a little sunshine could do.

 

When the lights changed, she started to walk across, keeping to the left, trying to avoid the people coming from the other side of the street crossing toward her on her right. 

 

In the middle of the intersection, Helen heard a distinctive man’s voice and it made hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She had no idea why.

 

“Mike? It’s me.” The man spoke into his phone. “Fine, thanks, yourself?”

 

Looking around, Helen caught a glimpse of the side of his face and his dark blue suit in the crowd of people. His face meant nothing to her.

 

“Are you coming on Friday?” asked the well dressed man.

 

She walked a few more steps and then stopped, finally recognizing the man’s voice. It scared the shit out of her. She had no idea why this man frightened her so much, though. All she knew was that it did. He filled her with such dread. And then she blinked.

 

*flashback*

 

The wind was howling and a bitterly cold Helen waited at the bus stop, eternally grateful it wasn’t raining and that she’d worn her heavier jacket and jeans.

 

Pulling the hood of her jacket over her head, she didn’t care if it ruined her hair. It had to be the coldest night ever, she thought as she stuffed her hands back deep into the pockets of her jacket. Stamping her feet, trying in vain to get warm, she muttered to herself, “Hurry up, bus.” She kept looking down the street for the bus, hoping that it would be early for once, knowing it wouldn’t be.

 

A large bag was thrown over her head and then everything went pitch black. Four arms grabbed her. Screaming, she tried to fight them off, kicking out and flaying her arms, connecting a few times but they were too strong and bundled her into a van. Forcing her onto her stomach, Helen fought for her life, screaming and bucking as they tied her feet and hands with tape. Stunned for a moment after her head hit a box when they roughly flipped her over onto her back, she tried to kick out but the effort had drained her. They pulled up the hood just enough to put tape over her mouth and then they put the hood back down, leaving her in total darkness. 

 

The men didn’t say anything. All she could hear was their laboured breath from the effort of restraining her.

 

Terrified, she lay there, knowing exactly what was going to happen to her next. 

 

*end of flashback*

 

Helen blinked again but now her mind went blank. She stopped in the middle of the road, frozen in terror.

 

\---

Walking back toward his car, Boyd made a mental shopping list. It was a stay-in night because Grace’s football team, Liverpool, were playing a Champion’s League game. This meant that she got to choose the takeaway, and when Man U played, he got to choose, but there would be hell to pay if they ran out of nibbles and drinks. He had to make sure everything was right.

 

Grace was a passionate Liverpool supporter and she was looking forward to the game. Bringing a smile to her face, he’d promised her that they’d get home well in time for kick off. He smirked, adding a new throw cushion to the shopping list, though. He wasn’t sure if the old one would last, should the Reds make it all the way to the final from the way that she tore at it whenever they missed a goal or the other team scored. 

 

Boyd came to the intersection just as the sound on the pedestrian lights changed and waited. Shaking his head, he watched foolhardy people jog across as the green man flashed. Where were the traffic wardens when you needed them? He scoffed as he wondered what he could charge them with - perhaps public stupidity, but it wasn’t worth the hassle or the paperwork.

 

Gradually, the intersection cleared and Boyd saw a woman, not moving, standing right in front of him, not more than 3 metres away. What drew her to him was the absolute look of terror on her face. Barely breathing, she looked petrified. A split second later, he heard a car approach the corner. Peter didn’t have time to think about it. He just reacted, dropping his case, sprinting out to the woman, grabbing her and pushing her, he hoped, to safety. 

 

When he turned to go back, he was a split second too slow. A blue Ford Focus car came around the corner fast. It was going to hit him. And then everything went in slow motion. Boyd tried to move back but wasn’t fast enough. 

 

The driver saw him but also reacted too slowly and couldn’t swerve out of the way far enough.

 

The car’s side mirror struck him hard in the arm, spinning him right around and back toward the car. His left shoulder and arm slammed into the car’s back door, knocking the breath out of him before he bounced off, hitting the gutter with a sickening thud, and then everything went black.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

A girl screamed.

 

Tyres screeched. 

 

A blue car stopped suddenly, barely avoiding another car.

 

“Shit!” a young man swore. He’d just seen an old guy hit by a car, then fly through the air, and land at his feet. Gagging, he felt the bile rise in his throat. Stepping backwards, he bumped into someone but they didn’t care. 

 

Shaking her head, Helen Chandler found herself in the arms of strange man. Why? She didn’t know. All she knew was she had to get out of there. Fast. She had to run while she still had the chance. Terrified, she pushed herself away from the confused man, and then ran off, leaving her handbag where it fell. 

 

No one noticed Helen run away. People were too stunned, not believing the man had risked his own life to save the woman.

 

“Wow! Did you see that, Mum?” An excited boy pointed at Boyd. “That man got hit by that car.” 

 

“Sshhhh, David. Let’s go.” The mother dragged her son away, not wishing for him to see any more. The idiot did a heroic thing but look where it got him – he was lying hurt and bleeding in the gutter. Anyway, there were plenty of other witnesses for the police to talk to, and besides, she didn’t want to be late. 

 

“Call an ambulance.” Reacting first, Teresa Adams, an off duty nurse, ordered to no one in particular. 

 

Teresa bent down to help Boyd, who lay face down in the gutter, unconscious, blood flowing freely from a head wound, matting his greying hair, and then running down the side of his face. Not risking moving the man in case of spinal injury, carefully she checked to see if he was breathing, and by the blood flow coming from his head wound, he had a pulse, but she checked it anyway, and was relieved to find that both were strong and steady. After looking him all over as best she could, other than a head wound, the man had no other obvious signs of injury. Taking off her jacket, she rolled a sleeve up and then gently put pressure on the cut. There was little else she could do to help him other than to keep checking that he was still breathing and had a pulse until the ambulance arrived.

 

Boyd groaned, his eyes flickered open, but he couldn’t see properly. Everything was blurry. He tried to move but stopped. White hot daggers of pain exploded throughout his body and he gasped. 

 

Sucking in deep breaths, he waited until the pain became manageable, and then opted instead for something a little less ambitious, trying instead to see if he could move his fingers and toes, his relief clear when he was able to do both. He’d be all right. 

 

Feeling pain must be good, because if he were dead, he wouldn’t feel any pain, Peter reasoned. He only wished the pain would lessen because if felt like a truck had hit him, and then he remembered that thankfully a car, and not a truck, had hit him. Otherwise Grace would be very mad at him indeed if it had been a truck. More than likely, she’d kill him if he’d been hit by a truck. 

 

When he tried to move his head again, a hand pressed on his back, stopping him.

 

“Try not to move.”

 

“Grace?” Peter asked, confused and exhausted, wondering how she got there so fast from CCHQ. 

 

“No. I’m Teresa.” Was that the woman he’d pushed to safety? She didn’t know. “Was Grace the woman you pushed?”

 

“No.” Waves of nausea washed over him and he moaned.

 

She tried to reassure him. “An ambulance will be here soon.”

 

“Okay.” Teresa sounded like Grace, and just as Grace’s voice could soothe him, her calm voice helped him focus and clear his mind. He tried to remember what had just happened. The woman’s frightened face filled his mind. Was she all right? He had to find out. “The woman. Is she okay?” 

 

Teresa looked around. She’d witnessed the whole incident. After he’d pushed the young woman safely into the arms of a man standing next to Teresa, she’d vanished; only her handbag remained. “I think so, but she’s gone. She dropped her handbag.” Amazed, Teresa couldn’t quite believe that he was thinking about the woman he saved and not himself. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine too.”

 

“I’m a police officer. Put her hand bag in my case.” His instincts screamed that there was something about the scared young woman and her running away only confirmed his suspicions. He had to find out what made her so petrified and why she’d vanished. 

 

“All right.” Having no reason not to believe Boyd, Teresa got up and did what Boyd had asked, and then returned. 

 

Sirens got closer.

 

A police car pulled up to the scene. One PC went straight to the blue Focus and took a statement from the shocked driver while the other went toward the man lying by the curb. 

 

“Is he alive, ma’am?” PC Howard asked the woman who was attending to the stricken man. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Teresa pointed to the Focus. “That car hit him.”

 

Howard shook his head, thinking the idiot was probably trying to cross against the lights and was lucky to be alive.

 

Teresa saw the PC’s look of disdain. Indignant, she shot him an equally scornful look. He had no idea what this man bleeding in the gutter had just done. “He pushed a woman to safety before he was hit. And he told me he’s a policeman.”

 

Howard bent down to look at the man, but didn’t recognize him. “Sir? What’s your name?”

 

Tired, Boyd struggled to open his eyes; blood had clotted and dried sticking his eyes lids down, making it hard to open them. Recognizing a PC’s uniform, he answered weakly, “DSI Boyd, CCU. … Warrant card number …176 … 401.”

 

Shit! A DSI. Howard didn’t know Boyd, but if he was a police officer, and a high ranking one at that, then he had to contact his sergeant.

 

The ambulance pulled up. Taking over from Teresa, the paramedics quickly assessed Boyd, wrapped a dressing on his head wound, and then carefully loaded him into the ambulance. Teresa gave the paramedics his case, making sure that they understood that it should stay with Boyd.

 

“I need to take a statement.” Howard opened his notepad. “When you’re ready?” 

 

“Okay. I was waiting at the lights when .…”

\- - -


	4. Chapter 4

 

Laughing together, Spence and Stella walked back into the bullpen just as the phone rang. 

 

Spence picked up the phone. “DI Jordan, Cold Case Unit.”

 

A relaxed Stella sat down, putting her feet up on the desk. It was great to have an unhurried lunch for a change, instead of eating and running as they normally did. They’d all been celebrating a good review from Boyd and commiserating with the DSI, in his absence, as he was being grilled by the ACC.

 

The good mood didn’t last long. Spence’s smile disappeared and his jaw clenched. The conversation didn’t last long with his answers short and curt, but she could tell that something bad happened. Stella sat back up. Perhaps a horrible new case, she wondered.

 

Spence put the phone down and quietly said, “It’s Boyd. He’s been hit by a car.”

 

“Merde!” The DC swore then recited a quick prayer for her boss. “Is he okay?”

 

“I don’t know. Won’t tell me. All they said was that he’s gone to hospital.”

 

Both looked toward Grace’s office; her door was closed, but they knew that the profiler was in there. 

 

“You have to tell her.” Stella’s heart went out to Grace. She always felt it hard to tell complete stranger that their loved ones had been in an accident. How the hell do you tell a friend the same thing? She had no answers and didn’t envy Spence at all.

 

“I know.” Sighing, Spence knocked on Grace’s door and waited for her to respond. Sometimes he hated being a senior officer. If Boyd was out, it meant some of the worse jobs fell to him, none more so than when he had to tell Frankie about Mel’s death. 

 

“Come in, Spence.” Just then, her phone rang, and Grace waved the DI in before answering her phone. “Grace Foley.”

 

While Grace answered the phone, Spence rehearsed what he was going to say to Grace, deciding to just come out and tell her. It’s what she’d have wanted.

 

“Yes, I am.” The colour drained from Grace’s face. When the Personnel officer had said the dreaded ‘Are you the next of kin of …?’ her heart froze, as so many horrific scenarios sprung to mind. “Oh God! Peter ….” 

 

Spence realized that she’d just heard the news. All the Traffic inspector had said was that he’d been in an RTA but nothing about his condition. It was only a courtesy to the CCU.

 

“Is he …?” A moment later, Grace sighed with relief. He’d been alive when the ambulance had taken him to hospital, but that was all the PO knew. The profiler closed her eyes and said a silent prayer to anything or anyone that would listen. “Which hospital?” She paused. “Thank you.” She hung up the phone. 

 

Looking dazed, Grace grabbed her handbag and coat but stopped in front of Spence. It was only then that she remembered that he was standing just inside her door. “Spence … sorry … I’ve got to go.”

 

“I know about the boss. I was just told by Traffic.” Spence pointed to the door. “Grace, we’ll drive you there.” 

 

Stella had their coats and was ready to go. She’d rung Eve, telling her to hold the fort with the promise to ring her as soon as they had any information.

 

Knowing she was not fit to drive, Grace thanked them and they left CCHQ. 

 

The journey to the hospital was understandably quiet. 

 

\---

 

Organized chaos greeted them as they walked into the Emergency department. All the cubicles were full and the doctors, nurses and paramedics were helping the injured or sick people. 

 

Grace waited until the ward clerk got off the phone. “My name is Grace Foley. I was told my partner, Peter Boyd, was brought here after he was hit ….” Grace choked on the words and her hand flew to her mouth. With tears welling in her eyes, it became too much and for a moment she thought her emotions might overwhelm her. Peter had to be all right. She didn’t think she was strong enough to survive losing another man she loved after her husband had died 10 years ago. From somewhere deep inside, she gathered herself and after a deep breath, she continued, “After he was hit by a car.”

 

After hearing Grace’s voice crumble, Stella stepped forward, and wrapped an arm around her, silently comforting her. 

 

The ward clerk was tired and emotional drained. He’d already dealt with 4 grieving families from patients that hadn’t made it. They treated so many RTAs every day that one patient was merging into another. He had no idea who the man was. “Peter Boyd?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Date of Birth?”

 

“July 15th, 1950.”

 

“Cubicle 2. Dr Chen.” The clerk pointed over his shoulder. “Over there.” 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

The team headed over to the bay but the curtain was drawn. A collective sigh could be heard when they recognized Boyd’s slightly annoyed voice, loud and clear, from the other side of the curtain.

 

Grace pulled back the curtain and entered the bay to find a doctor talking to Peter.

 

Looking like a mess, Boyd was propped up, lying on the hospital bed in a hospital gown with a large bandage wrapped around his head and his left arm in a sling. Dried blood stained his hair, face and neck. There were nasty scrapes covering his knees and his right elbow that oozed blood. 

 

“Peter?” His appearance shocked her but in the back of the mind, she knew that it would have been a lot worse. He could be in surgery fighting for his life, or even lying in the morgue as so many RTA victims ended up. 

 

Before Peter got a chance to say anything, Dr Chen turned to Grace. “Ah, Mrs Boyd?”

 

“Not yet but close enough. I’m Grace Foley,” Grace said with a wry smile, her eyes not leaving Boyd, pleased that he smiled back at her. Someday they may make it official, but for now she was just happy to see him alive, albeit a little worse for wear. 

 

“Sorry, Ms Foley. Mr Boyd will be all right. Scans show no brain damage, but he does have a mild concussion. X-rays also show no broken bones.” Chen was pleased to be giving out good news for a change. “Other than a cut on the head, a badly bruised left arm and some other minor scrapes and bruises, I’d say Mr Boyd got off lightly.” Chen closed his notes and then smiled. “I know he’s a policeman, but he’s not superman. Remind him of that the next time he wants to play the hero.” 

 

“Hero?”

 

Boyd rolled his eyes. He didn’t feel like a hero. It was something any one else would have done in similar circumstances. Now he just felt sore and tired.

 

“Apparently he ….” He’d heard the story from the paramedics who treated him.

 

In no mood, Boyd cut him off. “Doctor!” 

 

“Sorry,” Chen apologized. Mr Boyd’s clear and threatening tone shut him up very quickly. “The nurse will dress the scrapes soon. I’ll be back in an hour with your pain medication and rehab notes, then we can discharge you.’

 

“Thank you, Doctor.” 

 

Chen left the bay, closing the curtain behind them, leaving Boyd and Grace alone.

 

Tentatively, Grace neared Boyd. 

 

Unable to hide completely the pain of any sort of movement, he reached out, took her hand in his, and squeezed it gently, needing to reassure her that he was fine. “Grace, I’ll be okay.” Grace’s beautiful face was full of worry and getting that phone call must have been horrible. It wasn’t his intention to cause Grace any distress. He couldn’t stand that. “I’m sorry. I had ….”

 

“Shhh. I know.” The grimace of pain on Boyd’s face hadn’t gone unnoticed by Grace. She stepped a bit closer and gently put his hand back by his side, not wanting to cause him any further pain, and then her hand caressed his cheek. “But don’t ever do that again.” It was pointless saying that, as she knew it was going to happen again because of the type of man Boyd was. 

 

“I promise.” 

 

Leaning in closer, she kissed him gently on the lips. “Now tell me what happened.” 

 

\---


	5. Chapter 5

 

Tentatively, Stella and Spence entered the cubicle. After getting over the initial shock of seeing a bruised and battered Boyd, and far more of their boss than they would ever wish to because of his skimpy hospital gown, they listened intently as the DSI described what had happened again.

 

As Boyd spoke, the image of the frightened woman standing in front of him did not leave his mind. The scared look on her face had to mean something. He had to find out what it was and who she was, but how? And then he remembered that the woman who’d helped him had put her handbag into his briefcase. Tiredness and a throbbing headache had dulled his capacity to think. “Grace, can you find my case?” 

 

“Right.” Grace headed off to the nurse’s station.

 

Grace returned with his case and a plastic bag containing all his clothes and possessions. “It’s all here, Boyd.”

 

“Thanks, Grace.” After struggling to open the case one handed, Boyd showed the bag to the DI. “Spence, this is the woman’s handbag.”

 

All three were stunned that he’d even think to get the handbag after being hit by the car.

 

“She dropped it, and another woman who helped me, put it my case.” Boyd shrugged off the astonished looks on their faces. “Spence, find out who she is.”

 

“Should we take it back to her?”

 

“Yes, but let Eve take a look at it first.” 

 

Spence nodded. 

 

“Stella, get hold of the CCTV footage,” ordered the DSI. 

 

“Sir,” Stella answered, knowing it would be relatively easy because they had a time reference from the emergency call. It wasn’t like their regular cases where she spent hours trawling through miles of tape trying to find the suspect or incident.

 

Grace had seen that steely look on Boyd’s face before; his instincts had told him there had to be something behind why she’d stopped in the middle of the road, and his instincts were normally fairly accurate. She’d been wondering what would make the woman stop in the middle of the road too. Grace hoped that once she had background information, she’d be able understand the reasons why she’d done that.

 

Boyd had a problem, though. He had no clothes. On admission, the nurses had cut away his clothes to see what injuries he’d sustained. He couldn’t exactly walk out of hospital in a gown that was well above the knee and didn’t do up in the back. “Spence, could you drop Grace home to get some clothes for me?” asked Boyd, knowing he’d driven Grace to the hospital.

 

“No problem.” 

 

“I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Grace smiled warmly. She’d wanted to kiss him goodbye but didn’t. With Spence and Stella in the room, she settled for a gentle squeeze of his hand and then left.

 

\- - -

 

After telling Eve and the rest of the team that Boyd would be all right, the team got down to their tasks. 

 

In the lab, Eve examined the bag, taking hair samples from the brush for DNA analysis and starting the extraction protocol. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the young woman’s bag. After testing for fingerprints, she scanned the results and started the matching program. It was a waiting game now. The DNA procedure would take 12 hours to produce a result and it could take up to ten hours to get a fingerprint match.

 

From her driver’s license and using the all of the Met’s and National databases, Spence knew her name was Helen Chandler, how old she was, and where she lived and worked. She’d never been in trouble, having no police record and never committed any traffic offences. A financial check revealed she’d never been on welfare, had no real debts and paid her taxes. The only questionable thing, as far as he could tell, was that she was an Arsenal season ticket holder. 

 

There was nothing to suggest a reason for her behaviour. 

 

Spence spoke to the PCs that had attended the accident. They gave him their list of witnesses and everyone else involved. Another detective was running a check on these names. The DI couldn’t discount the PCs’ theory that she was a drug user or had mental health problems. Being a drug user doesn’t necessarily mean that she’d been on their system. It depended on the drugs and her available disposable cash. As for her being mentally ill, he didn’t know. He couldn’t access those files. If she was ill, she’d hidden it well to be able to hold down a good job. That angle was something for Grace to have a look at when she returned.

 

Traffic Division had sent Stella all the CCTV footage that she’d requested. Getting comfortable, Stella began looking two hours before the accident to see if she could spot the woman or anything else suspicious. Watching Helen Chandler as she’d first appeared leaving her office building; Stella couldn’t find anyone following her. 

 

Leaning in closer, Stella rested her chin on her hand and concentrated on Chandler, who had been waiting at the intersection. When the lights changed, the young woman had walked onto the road. At normal speed, it all happened very quickly. Helen slowed down, then turned her around, appearing to be looking for someone, walked a few more paces and then froze. The unmistakably tall figure of DSI Boyd had then leapt out as the Focus turned the corner, flinging the woman to the curb. It was still shocking to see the car hit her boss. His description of the events was typically and so modestly understated, but it did nothing to alleviate the horror of what the DC had just seen. 

 

The only good thing was that Grace wasn’t here to watch it. It was terrible. 

 

A flash of movement took her attention away from Boyd as he lay in the gutter. Stella rewound the footage a few seconds so she could find out what Chandler had been doing. She’d landed in a man’s arms and then within a second, she’d pushed him away, and then ran off down the street. Changing CCTV footage, Stella followed her down the street until she’d disappeared down the stairs of a tube station. No one had followed Helen Chandler from accident scene.

 

Rewinding the footage again, to where Helen Chandler had been in the middle of intersection, Stella analysed the images frame-by-frame, taking screenshots of everyone in the intersection. The priority would be those that Chandler appeared to look at. The DC followed those seven men and two women until she got both decent side on and front on images and then printed them out.

 

“Spence, Helen Chandler wasn’t followed.” Stella held up the printouts of the men and women. She’d already forwarded the images to Eve’s facial recognition expert so that he could run them through their system. “These are the photos are the people she turned to face before she froze.”

 

“And she’s not on the system. Anywhere.” 

 

“Really?”

 

“Yep.” Spence stood up, grabbing his coat. “Right. Let’s see if we can get some answers when we return her handbag.” 

 

“Okay.”

 

\- - -

 

Spence knocked on Helen Chandler’s door and waited. 

 

Stella stepped back, looking at the upstairs room, trying to see if there was anyone home. There were no lights on or any movement. 

 

DI Jordan banged on the door a little louder. 

 

Still there was no response. 

 

Opening the letterbox flap, Spence peered into the hallway. There were no signs of life. No noise. No lights. Even the mail was still on the floor.

 

“Spence.” Stella pointed to the pot plant on the front step. There was potting mix on the floor. 

 

They both thought the same thing. Perhaps she’d dug into the soil of the plant to get her spare key because she’d dropped her handbag at the scene and didn’t have her regular keys.

 

“A key?”

 

“Possibly. Check around the back.” 

 

Stella returned a minute later. “Nothing.”

 

“Ms Chandler, it’s the police!” Spence yelled through the letterbox slot. “I’m Detective Inspector Jordan! You’re not in any kind of trouble!”

 

Again, the two detectives waiting for a response, but none were forthcoming. 

 

Spence gave up, but left his card with a message written on the back, for her to ring him to collect her handbag. The DI already knew that she hadn’t returned to work. Her boss had been very concerned because it was completely out of character for Ms Chandler to have acted this way. She had been very conscientious and good at her job. “All right. Let’s check the neighbours.” 

 

None of her neighbours had seen her come home, but they all said she was a lovely woman, smiling and happy, echoing almost exactly what her boss had said. There was nothing to hint toward a reason for her behaviour and so Stella and Spence headed back to CCHQ to collate their information for Boyd.

 

\---

 

Shaking, Helen Chandler sat huddled in a ball in the corner of her bedroom, her arms wrapped around her legs, trying desperately not to fall apart, but failing miserably. Only when she heard a car drive off did she breathe or move again. So very cold, she pulled the quilt from her bed and wrapped it around her tightly. 

 

She had no idea how she’d gotten home. All she knew was that she had to hide, but having no reason why. An overwhelming fear of being found so terrified her that she couldn’t go down and open the door even when the man had yelled that he was police officer. Once again, Helen didn’t know why. 

 

A tear fell down her cheek. Helen hated not knowing why she was crying, but once one fell down her cheek, the floodgates then opened and she sobbed uncontrollably, her chest heaving. 

 

When she’d eventually cried herself out, she wiped her eyes and then blinked.

 

*flashback*

 

In total darkness, Helen lay on her stomach waiting, scared and helpless. Sweat dripped from her forehead and bile rose from her stomach.

 

Hearing movement, Helen tensed, and once again she felt strong hands grip her wrists. A knife slid between her wrists, cutting the tape. The cold metal chilled her to her bone. Those same strong hands forced to her feet and as one hand held that same sharp knife to her throat ensuring that she didn’t resist, she was unceremoniously stripped of her clothing. 

 

Hauled back on to the bed, and with the sharp knife still digging into her throat, her arms were spread out and she felt the metal of handcuffs click on her wrists and then onto the bed rails. 

 

A hand replaced the knife and squeezed around her throat, again to ensure her submission. She daren’t move as the tape around her ankles was cut, her shoes tossed against a wall and then her jeans slid off. Her ankles were tied to the bed rails, leaving her spread-eagled, in her underwear, completely helpless and at their mercy. 

 

Hearing footsteps move away, Helen breathed again, wondering why the men hadn’t touched her other than to tie her to the bed, and part of her wished they’d get on with it. 

 

A door creaked and as it closed, one of them spoke for the first time.

 

“Mike, get the cards ready. The winner gets first crack.”

 

Even though she knew what was coming, it still filled her mind with horrific images and she retreated into the deep recesses of her mind, finding a place of sanctuary.

 

*end of flashback* 

 

Gasping, Helen bolted upright. Flinging back the quilt, she ran for the toilet, barely making it time before she vomited into the bowl. Again and again she retched, until there was nothing left. 

 

Rolling out into the hallway, her throat and mouth burning from the vile acidic contents of her stomach, she sat there until her stomach finally quelled, and then trudged back to bed, feeling like shit, not sure what was happening to her. The rational part of her mind thought the dodgy curry from the night before might have caused it. Helen chose to believe her rational mind and ignore everything else. It was easier to deny these nightmares and everything that had happened than to try to think about it or try to understand it.

 

Emotional spent and exhausted, she drifted off to sleep.

 

\- - -

 

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

 

After shifting uncomfortably on the couch, Peter eventually found a position that wasn’t too bad on his battered body. On days like this, he really felt his age, aching all over, and wondered why he hadn’t listened to his wonderful mother and done a History PhD, ending up as an academic, instead of becoming a policeman. Although still fascinated by history, he just couldn’t see himself lecturing to bunch of snotty nosed kids, day in day out. He’d have been bored shitless, but at least he wouldn’t have been regularly stabbed, shot at, ran over, spat on, and or beat up. 

 

Sipping his tea, but wishing instead it was a scotch, Boyd relaxed, listening to Grace hum along to the soft music playing in the background as she pottered about.

 

Knowing Boyd for as long as she had, Grace knew that he didn’t like to be fussed over. She didn’t like it either. All she had done was give him his medication with a tea and put on his favourite music CD on. Reading was out of question considering the headache that he’d surely have, and at this time of the day, the only things on the TV were kids’ shows or soaps. He’d have thrown the remote at the TV if forced to watch those, she thought, grinning. 

 

On the dining table sat the large plastic bag containing Peter’s ruined clothes from the hospital. Hesitating for a moment, knowing exactly how it was going to affect her, Grace lifted his pants and then jacket out of the bag and checked through all the pockets, finding his warrant card, wallet, phone and car keys as well as other odds and ends. Without realizing it, Grace stopped humming when she took out his shirt, not able to hide the shock of seeing the sheer amount of blood on his shirt, most of it coming from a small cut on his head that required five stitches above his right ear. 

 

Even though she’d been exposed to the horror of dead and mutilated bodies almost every day, it could never prepare her for seeing the man she loved so much covered in his own blood. Peter had been lucky. A second later, and the car could’ve hit him head on, and he’d have been badly hurt or so easily killed and it shook her to the core. Staring at the shirt, she wiped away a tear. 

 

Opening his eyes, Peter noticed right away that Grace had stopped humming. As he’d told her many times before, when she stops talking, or in this case humming, then he got worried. His bloodied clothes were in front of her. Peter sighed, hardly imagining what it had been like for Grace, not knowing what had happened after receiving the phone call. Wanting to comfort her, he needed to touch her, to show her that he was okay. 

 

Leaning on a chair for support, Grace continued to stare at his clothes on the table as more tears welled up in her eyes.

 

His bare feet didn’t make a sound as he walked up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder, gently rubbing it.

 

Grace felt the heat from his body on her back. Closing her eyes, she relished his nearness, again realizing how close she’d come to never feeling him this close to her again. 

 

Peter slipped his arms around her waist and drew her close to him. Her hands covered his hands. Kissing her hair, he then rested his chin on his head, her delicate scent and softness soothed the pain of his sore body.

 

They stood together, holding each other, gently swaying for several minutes. They didn’t need to say anything, both just needing the physical closeness of the other.

 

Grace felt Peter stifle a yawn. He had to be tired after all that had happened. Turning around his arms, she slipped her hands in between his robe, and feathered up his bare chest until they cupped his face. Her thumb rubbed his cheek. “Peter .…” 

 

“Hmm ….” Peter sighed, loving the way she sung his name. He almost forgot that a car had hit him with the first stirrings of arousal appearing.

 

They kissed tenderly.

 

Grace saw that look in his eye and decided to play on it. “Let’s go.” Matching his smirk, she took his hand and led him upstairs, but instead of heading to the bedroom, she detoured to the bathroom. Slipping his robe off, she sat him down on the edge of the bath, and then she filled the hand basin with warm water.

 

As the sink filled, Peter tried to touch her, but she swatted his hand away, and then cleaned up all the blood, tenderly dabbing around his stitches on his head and around his other cuts and bruises.

 

Afterwards, she pointed the way to the bed. “Come on. Bedtime.” 

 

After climbing in, Boyd patted her side of the bed and put on his most charming come-hither look. “You coming?”

 

Grace rolled her eyes. He was wonderfully incorrigible. Normally, that look made her knees weak and her heart flutter with desire, and she’d have been there in a flash, but this day was different. He needed rest. “In a while.” She had a few more things to do around the house, none more important than what would be happening in around an hour’s time. Taking off her work clothes, she changed into her favourite Liverpool shirt and pants.

 

“Ah … the match.” 

 

“Well, yes…. Sorry,” she replied sheepishly, but she knew that sleep would elude her now. She was over tired, and strange as that sounded, she knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, and would end up tossing and turning and disrupting Peter’s sleep. He needed it. And watching the game would relax her, especially if they won. 

 

“Enjoy the game.” He would’ve liked to watch it with her, but his day finally caught up with him, and he yawned yet again. 

 

Carefully avoiding his heavily bruised left arm, Grace kissed him sweetly, lingering for a few seconds. “Do you need anything else?”

 

“No.” Peter had everything he wanted right there beside him. Grace - her love and what they shared together. “I love you.”

 

“I know. I love you too.” After a gentle squeeze of his hand, she left, turning off the lights as she left the room.

 

\- - -

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, and arriving two hours later than normal, Boyd and Grace walked into CCHQ. 

 

Turning off the alarm, Grace had let Peter sleep in. From the groans and swearing that had come from upstairs as Boyd had showered and dressed, Doctor Chen had been right. Peter would feel a lot worse the day after the accident. He’d flat out refused to wear the sling for his badly bruised left arm that he’d barely been able to move. He had his reputation to uphold, he’d argued. Her reply had been to almost lose her tea all over him with laughter, but that hadn’t stopped her from putting it in her handbag if he’d needed it later on. 

 

Staring at the transparent board, Spence, Eve and Stella had been going over what little they had on Helen Chandler as they waited for the boss to arrive. There were her details, her photograph and the nine photos of the people she’d appeared to look at before freezing, but not much else. Eve had drawn a blank with the fingerprints and the DNA. None of the samples she’d taken had been a match on their system. 

 

There was nothing to suggest a reason for her behaviour.

 

“Sir?” Stella was the first to see them come into the bullpen. Any normal human being would’ve have taken a day off, but Boyd was Boyd. The only outward sign that he’d been injured was the stitches and associated small section of hair missing above his right ear. That looked nasty, but overall he looked all right considering, Stella thought.

 

The rest of the team stopped what they’d been doing. All wanting to ask the same questions, but their boss circumvented them first.

 

“Okay.” Boyd decided to get it over with in one hit. He wasn’t it in the mood to recount it all again, feeling stiff all over and he still had a residual headache, but a little discomfort wasn’t going to stop him finding out who the woman was and why she’d kept popping into his mind. He addressed all the team with a typically understated comment, “I’m fine. Now can we get on with it?”

 

Like the rest of the team, Eve was going to say something because she didn’t believe a word he’d said, but a shake of the head from Grace indicated that the profiler knew his true condition and would keep on top of it. 

 

Reluctantly, the team did what their boss had asked. 

 

Boyd walked up to the board and stared at the driver’s licence photo of Helen Chandler. Instead of seeing the typical jaundiced licence photo, Boyd’s mind had imposed her scared face. He looked intently at the photo until Grace coughed, interrupting him and brought him back to reality. “Spence, what have you got?”

 

Spence told them what little they had. The only thing they didn’t have back was the facial recognition check on the people in the intersection. That would take another day. In the meantime, the DI had requested Uniform help to trace the photos the old-fashioned way by doing a door-to-door of the surrounding businesses to see if anyone recognised them.

 

“Anything from the witnesses?”

 

“Nothing. No police records. And they all said the same thing.” 

 

“So there’s nothing on police record for Miss Chandler?” Boyd repeated.

 

“No, sir.”

 

“What about mental health services?” Grace asked. Perhaps Helen Chandler was on their system.

 

“They refused to give us any details.” Stella replied, and then smiled, hoping to use Grace’s professional ties to get the information. “But perhaps you can?”

 

“I’ll get right on to it.” Oh joy, she thought. It was just what she wanted, being on hold forever while the bureaucracy decided if they’d let her have access. Grapping a tea and her copy of everything they had on Helen Chandler, she went to her office and made the call.

 

Boyd saw the woman’s handbag on Stella’s desk. “Spence? I thought I told you to return it.”

 

“We tried, but we went to her place yesterday, she wasn’t home and she hadn’t gone back to work afterwards.”

 

“Stella, find out if she’s at work now and if she had any problems - the usual stuff.” Boyd rubbed his goatee, and then turned back to Spence. “Friends and family?”

 

“Not yet. I’m about to go through her phone contact list and her address book.” 

 

“Right. Good work.” Proud of his team, Boyd nodded. They’d waded through a lot of information for not much reward. When he’d been a DC, he’d hated trawling through records, but understood that tedious leg work was the backbone of most investigations. These days it was a lot easier with everything computerised and in databases. In his day, it was all card based and a bloody nightmare. With a shake of his head and a smirk, he remembered the Monty Python sketch, the four Yorkshiremen, and he muttered to himself, “And you try and tell the young people of today that ..... they won't believe you.”

 

Nonetheless, he was very thankful that information gathering was the domain of constables and sergeants and not DSIs like himself. Gladly leaving them to get on with it, he picked up his copy of the file and retreated into his office to read everything they had on Helen Chandler.

 

\- - -

 

“It was like getting blood from a stone,” Grace mumbled to herself. They all worked for the same Home Office. She’d worked with some of them at Broadmoor. Hell, most of them have read my books, she sneered to herself. Then why had it just taken an hour on hold or transferred from bureaucrat to another one, only to be transferred back to the one she’d called in the beginning? It was enough to make her scream, but that wasn’t her style. 

 

Maybe there was something in Boyd’s methods. She’d sat and stewed while she got the run around and she wondered if she’d just yelled a bit, like Peter, would she have gotten the information sooner? Probably not, she realized; her tone of voice, when angry, wouldn’t put the fear of God into anyone, unlike Boyd’s.

 

Speaking of Boyd, Grace looked across to his office. Peter had just rubbed his left temple with his right hand. He hadn’t used his left arm. She’d seen the very nasty dark purple and green bruise that ran from his shoulder to his elbow, and it was no wonder he hadn’t or couldn’t move it. 

 

Under the pretext of telling Boyd what she’d found out about the mysterious brunette, Helen Chandler, Grace would actually gauge how he was feeling and get him to have his medication. She knew that he’d have probably forgotten to take them, so engrossed in whatever he was doing. Gathering her file under an arm, she made two teas, and then went to his office.

 

Using her elbow, she opened the door and sat down opposite Boyd. His table strewn with papers, and on a notepad in front of him, he’d scribbled pertinent information and his thoughts. Normally, Grace couldn’t read his scrawl that passed as his handwriting right side up, so she had no chance of reading it upside down. From the file information, there could be only conclusion - they just had no idea why Helen Chandler had stopped, but there was no way Boyd would stop now as she’d seen that determined look on his face so many times before. He’d have to get a direct order from the Commissioner himself, and even then, it probably wouldn’t be enough to deter him. Once bitten, he became almost obsessed with finding the truth. This quality made him the great detective that he was. 

 

The smell of the tea was so welcoming to Boyd, he looked up straight away. He’d been struggling to concentrate, having read the file three times and still it hadn’t really sunk in. Perhaps Grace had been right and he should’ve stayed home, but he just couldn’t. Helen Chandler’s terrified face kept coming back, almost haunting him. He had to know why. Peter took off his glasses and smiled at Grace. “Thank you.” Sipping the tea, he savoured the taste. The tea and his Grace were a lifesaver. 

 

To Grace, Peter looked absolutely knackered. He should’ve stayed home, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen as soon as Peter had spoken about the woman over breakfast. She’d just have to make sure he took his pills and drive him around. “Have you had your medicine?”

 

He looked at his watch, amazed at where the time had gone. “No.” 

 

“Take your pills and then I’ll tell you what I’ve got.”

 

“Tell me what you got first then ….”

 

“No. Take your medication first.”

 

“Grace, the information.”

 

“Boyd, the pills.”

 

“The information.” Boyd’s jaw clenched. 

 

“Boyd, no. The pills.” She steeled herself, not budging an inch. 

 

Crossing her arms meant that she was all business, so Peter changed tack and tried to charm it out of her by smiling and using his softer tone of voice that he reserved only for her. “Please.”

 

“No.” She tried very hard not to laugh as he tried to worm the information out of her. It would take more than a sexy smile and a glint in his eye for her to budge.

 

“I’m fine. Really.”

 

Grace shook her head. His ‘tell’ gave him away. He was lying.

 

“Grace. Just tell me.” Trying again, this time his voice hitched a little as he became slightly aggravated. Grace could infuriate him sometimes. 

 

Grace weathered Boyd’s death glare with a smile. It may work on suspects and young, impressionable DCs, but not her. It was part of his armoury that used so effectively to intimidate people, but it had never really worked on her. She saw through it so easily. “Not until ….”

 

“Grace, please,” Peter begged. “Come on, please.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she pursed her lips, only to stop a wry grin forming. He could be so childish sometimes. “For God’s sake, just take the pills.”

 

“Argghhh ….” Boyd gave in. “All right. You win.” Making a big show out of it all, he laid out the three pills, two for the pain, one for the swelling, and showed her each pill before swallowing each one with a mouthful of tea. “Satisfied?”

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

“Now, can you tell me what you’ve got?”

 

“All right.”

 

“Well?” Boyd asked impatiently.

 

“Nothing.” 

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” Grace had to laugh. Boyd’s exasperated look on his face was priceless. 

 

“You made me beg for nothing.”

 

“I know.” Grace’s smile grew larger. It made a change from her begging him to stop teasing her and take her all the way to paradise when they’d be making love.

 

Boyd shook his head and he couldn’t help but smile too. Only Grace could get away with what she’d just done. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

 

“No. Just that we’ll need to talk to her family and friends to find out more.”

 

“Once Spence’s has done the checks, we’ll do that.”

 

The phone rang. 

 

Boyd picked up the phone. “DSI Boyd.” 

 

Grace got up to leave, but Peter waved her to stay.

 

“Sir.” Boyd sat up straighter. “Yes, sir. …. No, I’m fine. …. I did what anyone would’ve done. …. I’m not, sir. …. Definitely not. I don’t want to talk to the press. …. No, sir. …. I’m not interested. Hair and make up can get their good news human-interest story from someone else. …. We haven’t found the woman yet. …. Yes, sir. …. All right. …. Thank you, sir. Goodbye.” Boyd hung up the phone and shook his head. “Shit!”

 

“What is it?”

 

“That was the Commissioner. The press want to talk to me.”

 

Grace knew that Boyd was not into self-promotion like some other senior officers. He did what he did to find the truth. It was simple as that. And what he’d done yesterday may have been brave, but he hadn’t done it to get his face in the paper, it had been the right thing to do. “When?”

 

“As soon as we find the woman.” 

 

“But what if she doesn’t want to talk to the press or we can’t find her?”

 

“I know.” Boyd shrugged. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t speak to the media. Tired from all the reading, he rubbed his eyes, and then decided he’d had enough. “Come on. Grab your coat. Let’s go talk to Helen Chandler.”

 

Spence had just run checks on Helen’s family and friends, revealing only one conviction other than the usual minor traffic offences. A girlfriend had a shoplifting conviction ten years ago, when the girl was fifteen. 

 

“Spence!” Boyd yelled, but regretted it instantly. A sharp stabbing pain above his right ear reminded him that yelling was not a good thing. He tried again, this time softer. “Spence, Helen Chandler’s friends and family?”

 

“Nothing of note.” Spence handed him the list. “Stella and I will start on the friends.”

 

“Right. Grace and I will talk to Helen Chandler and then her family. And see if Uniform has had any luck with those faces.” 

 

“Okay.”

 

Boyd waited until Grace had grabbed her handbag and coat and they left together.

 

\- - -

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

“Torres’ goal was brilliant. He did a one-two with Alonso and then slotted ….”

 

Boyd’s phone rang; interrupting Grace’s excited review of the Liverpool game. Twice already, he’d had to remind her to keep both hands on the steering wheel, because her hands wildly gesticulated as she’d recounted the action. 

 

“Boyd.”

 

“It’s Spence. Islington MIT wants us have a look at a body.”

 

“Details?”

 

“Nothing other than the DCI just said that it’s been there for well over five years.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Noel Road. A warehouse redevelopment.”

 

As they were only five minutes away from Helen Chandler’s house and it would take at least thirty minutes before Eve could get out to site, it was an easy decision for Boyd to make. “Spence, get the team out there. Grace and I will be there after we’ve seen Chandler.”

 

“Right. See you then.”

 

Boyd hung up. “We’ve got another shout. A body in Islington. No details.”

 

Nodding, Grace turned into Helen Chandler’s road and then parked the Audi. 

 

Boyd groaned as he got out of the car, his large frame feeling stiff and sore with every movement. His muscles hadn’t felt that sore since his initial police recruit course. He glared back at Grace from across the roof of the car as he shut the door. She’d been keeping an eye on him the whole day and it was starting to get on his nerves. 

 

Ignoring Boyd’s evil look, Grace grabbed her handbag as well as Helen Chandler’s and locked the car. 

 

After knocking on the door, Boyd and Grace took out their IDs and waited. When there was no response, Boyd opened the letter flap to see if there was anyone home. There was no mail on the floor. Spence had said there had been some when he’d been there the previous day, so someone must have been have come home in the meantime. 

 

Boyd knocked again but still there was no response. 

 

After a quick glance at Grace, Boyd shrugged and then yelled through the letterbox flap, “Ms Helen Chandler, it’s the police!”

 

Eventually, they heard footsteps and the door opened. 

 

“Yes?” The woman yawned.

 

A twenty something woman with muffled hair and dressed in her robe and pyjamas answered the door, but it wasn’t Helen Chandler. 

 

“Sorry to wake you, I’m Detective Superintendent Peter Boyd and this is Dr Grace Foley.” They both held up the IDs, allowing time for the barely awake woman to read them. “And you are?”

 

“Mary Carr.” She rubbed her eyes. “The police?” 

 

“Yes.” Boyd recognized Mary Carr’s name from the list of friends that Spence made. She must be her flat mate.

 

Mary looked at the Foley woman. She was carrying two handbags and one of them looked like Helen’s work handbag. Why did she have Helen’s handbag? Shit! Was she all right? Now, she was well and truly awake. “That’s Helen’s.”

 

“Helen Chandler?”

 

“Yes. We share this house. Come in.” Mary opened the door and ushered them into the sitting room. “How did you get it?”

 

“She dropped it near St. James’ Park.” Boyd didn’t think he needed to go into any real detail.

 

Grace could see Mary was clearly worried. “When was the last time you saw Helen?”

 

“Yesterday morning. I work shifts. She leaves for work just as I’m coming home. Most times we miss each other.”

 

“Do you know if she’s in?”

 

“No, but she should be at work.”

 

“We’ve checked. She’s not at work.”

 

Mary looked even more shocked. Helen was very conscientious, hardly ever having a sick day in the two years since they’d been sharing this house. “We don’t really see each other all that much. I’ll go up and check.” 

 

Mary went up the stairs and knocked on her bedroom door. “Helen?” She listened for a few seconds before she heard a ruffling of the quilt. Relieved knowing she was home, she asked again, “Helen?”

 

“What?”

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Yes, Mary.” 

 

Mary opened the door. Even in the muted light, she could she that Helen looked terrible. She was a pale, deathly grey and there were dark rings under her eyes. Normally, Mary had been a little jealous of her housemate’s complexion, but not now. It shocked her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she put a hand on Helen’s forehead. It was cold and clammy. She must be sick. “The flu?”

 

“Yeah .…” Helen groaned. She felt very sick, her nightie was saturated and it felt like her head was going to explode. 

 

“The police are here.”

 

“The police?” Her head pounded even more. 

 

“Apparently you dropped your handbag and they’re returning it.”

 

“I don’t remember doing that.”

 

“You must be sick.” Mary remembered the last time she had a bad flu and she’d had similar gaps in her memory. “Do you want me to get a doctor after they go?”

 

“No. I’ll be right.” 

 

Mary didn’t believe that for a second, but let it pass. “I’ll just tell the police you’re here. They’ll probably want to come up to see you.” She smiled, trying to make Helen feel better. “Make yourself decent. The policeman is quite handsome for an old guy.”

 

“Okay.” Helen doubted she’d be interested even if George Clooney walked into her room. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep. She sat up and pulled the quilt up higher. 

 

Mary went downstairs. “Helen’s in, but she looks like she’s very sick.”

 

“We won’t be too long.”

 

“It’s the first on the right.”

 

“Thank you, Ms Carr.” Boyd smiled and walked up the stairs. He was thankful it was only one flight because his body had protested every step. Half way up, he had to stop; his right knee was swollen and painful. Sucking in a breath, he continued on. Grace would be keeping an extra eye on him now. He was sure of that. 

 

Grace waited while Peter flexed his knee and then knocked on her door.

 

“Ms. Chandler, its DSI Boyd and Dr Grace Foley from the Metropolitan Police, can we come in?”

 

After they heard a weak ‘yes’ they opened the door. 

 

Helen looked up as the pair entered her room and showed her their IDs again. There was a sudden flash of recognition and then just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. It had been too fleeting to mean anything to her. His greying hair looked familiar but nothing else. Perhaps it was because he looked like an uncle she hadn’t seen for many years.

 

Boyd immediately knew this was the frightened woman that he’d saved, but it seemed that she didn’t recognize him at all. “Ms Chandler, yesterday you dropped your handbag in St James’ Park.”

 

“I don’t remember much about yesterday.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it would have to do. She remembered having lunch and walking back to the office but she had no idea how she’d ended up home. She’d had a sense of being scared and then she’d woken up in bed. Now she felt a little silly that she couldn’t remember. It must be a bad flu, she’d thought. “Thank you for returning it.”

 

Grace watched the woman as Boyd gently questioned her. Helen had no memory about what had happened yesterday. She had no doubt about that. It was the reason why that bothered her and it had more to do with than her just being sick. There was just that niggle of something not quite right that worried her. And she could tell that Peter knew this as well, but when he wasn’t getting anywhere, he started to get frustrated. At a break in the conversation, Grace butted in, “Thank you for you time, Ms Chandler. I hope you get better.”

 

Boyd quickly looked at Grace. He wanted to question Helen more. She wasn’t telling him the whole truth, but a shake of the head from Grace was enough for him to stop. Sometimes it was hard for him to remember that witnesses need to be treated differently to suspects. “All right, Ms Chandler. I’ll leave you my card if you remember anything more.”

 

“Thank you again and goodbye.” As the pair left her bedroom, she sighed. The ordeal was over. All she wanted to do was sleep and so she curled up in the foetal position and fell asleep almost immediately.

 

After coming back down the stairs, Boyd turned to Mary. “An officer will come later to ask you some questions.” He’d wanted to question Mary about Helen but it would have to wait. “Mary, Helen doesn’t remember anything about yesterday. If she does tell you anything, anything at all, could you call me? Here’s my card.”

 

“All right. Thank you, Mr Boyd.” Mary closed the door and went back upstairs to go back to bed.

 

\- - -

 

As Grace drove to Noel Road, they discussed Helen’s memory lapse and her responses. They’d both had the flu or pneumonia in the past and knew how dissociated the disease and the drugs made them feel. Nonetheless, they ignored this, as all their instincts told them there something more behind it.

 

Grace parked the car. She quickly glanced at Boyd. He’d just pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he in pain or just tired? Probably both, she thought. 

 

Boyd had seen her looking at him. “I’m all right. Really. Just sore.” 

Grace let it go without comment. She cared about him, but didn’t want to nag. It didn’t mean that she wouldn’t stop keeping an eye on him.

 

Getting out of the car, they walked over to Spence who was waiting at the entrance to the warehouse.

 

“What have you got, Spence?”

 

“It’s inside here.” The DI led them to the site, where Eve was working in a ditch. Spence explained that workers had been using a jackhammer to tear up the surrounding concrete and had broken through to the box and got the shock of their lives to find a wooden box with a skeleton inside it.

 

“Ah, Boyd. Grace.” Eve smiled and then took a deep breath and launched into her analysis of the site. “Okay. What we have here is a woman, probably middle aged, and most likely buried alive in this box.” She lifted a piece of broken wood up so they could see. “See the finger nail scrape marks. They’re only on the inside.”

 

Grace turned to Peter and they both thought the same thing. What a horrible way to die.

 

“ID?”

 

“Nothing. We’ve got hair so I should be able to get a DNA sample.”

 

Grace leant in to view the remains. “How long has she been there?”

 

“Ball park – ten to fifteen years, by the state of the wood. I’ll know more when I get her to the lab.”

 

“Do a facial reconstruction too.”

 

“Right.” Eve returned to the hole in the ground.

 

“Stella?”

 

“The warehouse is currently owned by the Matrix Corporation, a property developer. They bought it three months ago. Ross Carter is the owner. Surprisingly, no form for a developer. It’s been derelict since 1995.”

 

The warehouse being derelict for so long was bad news. Anyone could have had access to the building. 

 

“Check the businesses in the area.”

 

Stella nodded. 

 

“Spence, see what missing persons from 1993 turns up.”

 

Boyd rubbed his hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. Fatigue oozed from every pore. He went through his mental checklist again to see if there was anything he’d forgotten such was his tiredness. Normally, he’d never second-guess himself. And normally, he’d be pacing in the lab, harassing Eve and or willing the PCR machine to go faster or eagerly waiting on what Spence and Stella had dug up to check out the details himself, but he was so exhausted, he couldn’t think straight. It was time to go home. Without an ID, there was nothing he could do anyway. “Call me when you get something. Grace ….” 

 

“I’ll just be a minute,” Grace replied, while Peter trudged to the car. “Spence, don’t call him. Let him sleep. Call me if you get something and then I’ll tell him. I’ll drive him home.”

 

They all knew that the team could handle the preliminaries without him being there. It would be okay as they’d have nothing concrete until the morning anyway. Eve and her team will start of the usual fingerprints and DNA and finish with a skull reconstruction, and Spence and Stella would troll through the Misspers files to look for likely matches. 

 

\- - -

 

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Ann Black turned on the telly and then wrapped her legs under her. Her bowl of choc mint ice-cream rested in her lap. Getting herself comfortable, she planned to have a relaxing night watching her two favourite shows that were due to start after the news. 

 

“Next is some remarkable CCTV footage recorded yesterday near St James’ Park.” 

 

Amazed, Ann stared at the CCTV footage. A man had just pushed a woman away from an oncoming car and then he’d been hit himself. 

 

“The man is Detective Superintendent Peter Boyd of the Metropolitan Police. Witnesses have said that DSI Boyd heroically pushed the woman out of the path of an oncoming Focus. The woman was not injured. Mr Boyd’s condition is not known, but it is believed he was not severely injured. Traffic police have recommended Mr Boyd for an ....” 

 

A close up the woman appeared on the screen and Ann was stunned. It was Helen Chandler. She was in no doubt of that. Perhaps this was the reason that she hadn’t called her last night. Ann hoped that she was all right.

 

Grapping her phone, she pressed speed dial. “Helen?”

 

“No, it’s Mary.” Mary yawned.

 

“Oh, sorry, Mary. Is Helen there?”

 

“She’s asleep, I think. She’s got the flu. Can I take a message?”

 

“Is she okay?”

 

“She looked really sick earlier today.”

 

“Has she said anything to you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Have you seen the news?”

 

“Nope. I’ve been asleep. What’s happened?”

 

“Helen’s on the BBC News. She ….”

 

“She’s what?”

 

“Yeah, she’s on the news. I just saw it. Some cop pushed her out of the way of a car.”

 

“Shit.” And then it clicked. The policeman. She’d watched enough of The Bill to know that a detective superintendent was a high rank and returning lost property was work for a PC and not a DSI. “Boyd.”

 

“Boyd. That’s the guy. How did you know?”

 

“At lunchtime, he came over to give her handbag back that she’d dropped at St James’ Park, but he didn’t say anything about any accident. Tell me.” She was angry with herself that she hadn’t been more awake to ask more questions of both Boyd and Helen.

 

“Apparently this bloke, Boyd, pushed Helen out of the way of a car. He was hit, but she was okay.” 

 

Now Mary understood why he’d looked a little worse for wear. “Jesus!”

 

“When did you speak to her?”

 

“Around noon, I think.” Mary ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ve been asleep since then.”

 

“Let her sleep. Could you get her to call me tomorrow?” Ann wanted to know what had happened, but she also knew that Helen had to be very sick to miss work. It wasn’t like her at all. 

 

“No problem.” 

 

“Okay. Bye, Mary.” Ann hung up the phone and turned on the sound to her TV, but she wasn’t completely focussed on the show as she normally would have been. Her friend had been lucky that the policeman had been there to save her. God knows what she or Helen’s family would have done if her best friend had died.

 

\- - -

 

*beep beep beep beep*

 

“Arghh …. ” Mary rolled over and slapped the alarm. It was time to get up and go to work. After a stretch, she pulled back the covers, swung her feet over the bed and then stood up.

 

Just then, a bone-chilling scream pierced the air.

 

Mary raced across the hall and opened Helen’s bedroom door. 

 

Helen sat bolt upright. Her hair was a mess and her face covered in sweat. Panting wildly, Helen’s eyes darted back and forth. Her hands gripped the sheet so hard that it pulled the sheet out from under the mattress. 

 

The look of sheer terror on her friend’s face frightened Mary for a moment. She stood there at the entrance to her room just as frozen as Helen. 

 

A whimper from Helen was enough to break the spell. She sat on the bed, and then tentatively touched her arm. “Helen?”

 

Helen’s head spun around to her touch. “Get away. No more. Please ....” Terror filled her entire being. She couldn’t run away. She couldn’t seem to move. 

 

“It’s Mary….” Mary’s heart nearly broke at Helen’s childlike pleading. 

 

“I can’t see. I can’t breath. I don’t want to die.” Helen started to cry. 

 

“You’re not going to die,” Mary reassured her. “You’re safe, sweetheart.”

 

Someone was stroking her arm. 

 

“It’s okay. The policeman saved your life. He’s okay. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine too.” Mary thought she might have had a nightmare about the accident.

 

All Helen remembered was an overwhelming sense of horror and it was same feeling she had yesterday. There was a connection between what happened yesterday and what was happening to her now. And that was the horrible sense of fear and dread. But she couldn’t or wouldn’t remember anything more. She’d denied it yesterday, but couldn’t any more. “Please …. Mary ….. I want it to stop.” Helen sobbed uncontrollably. “Make it stop.”

 

“Make what stop?”

 

“These nightmares.” 

 

“What’s in your nightmares?” Mary pressed, trying to find out. She wanted to help.

 

“I don’t fucking remember!” Helen screamed.

 

“It’s all right, Helen. You’ll be all right.” 

 

“I’m so scared. I’ve never been so frightened in my life. I just don’t know why. Please help me.” Helen grabbed her and held onto her with all her strength. She then told Mary what she remembered and Mary told her what she knew.

 

“It’s okay, Helen.” Mary thought she may be delirious from the flu. Helen felt hot and sweaty and Mary felt the same just being so close to her. They both needed a drink of water and looked at the side table. There was no water, but the policeman’s card and then it struck her that the he woman who’d come to see Helen yesterday was a doctor. A forensic psychologist, it said on her ID. Perhaps she could help Helen through what ever it is that is happening to her. Mary debated on calling him this late at night and in the end decided she had to. Helen was such a strong person and for her to be reduced to a blubbering mess, it must be bad.

 

After prising herself away from Helen, Mary got them a glass of water. Helen downed hers very quickly and then clung to Mary like a limpet. 

 

“Helen, I’m going to call the policeman that was here yesterday. The woman with him was a doctor. Maybe she could help you. Is that okay?”

 

“Yes, please.” Helen knew she had to sort this out. Whatever happened was making her physically ill and she had to find out why. Although part of her didn’t want to know, she knew she had to.

 

“Good girl.” Mary thought she might have had a fight on her hands and was glad that Helen agreed. “I’ll call Mr Boyd.”

 

Mary picked up the policeman’s card and dialled the number.

 

“DSI Boyd’s phone, Grace Foley speaking.” A very happy Grace was just about to head upstairs to bed after the game when Boyd’s phone rang. 

 

“It’s Mary Carr. You came to my house today.”

 

“Yes, I remember. What can I do for you?” She remembered the tired girl in her flannelette pyjamas and messed up hair. 

 

“It’s about Helen Chandler.” Mary wasn’t sure what to say, but with one look at Helen and her dishevelled sheets, she knew she had to just come and say it. “She woke up screaming and very frightened. She can’t remember what happened to her, but she’s sure that it’s got to do with what happened yesterday with Mr Boyd.” She paused for breath. “You’re a psychologist?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can you help her?”

 

Grace had a lot of expertise in getting people to remember horrific events. It took a lot out of her, but in the end she knew it was better for the person to remember than to repress and deny whatever it was. “Does Helen want to do this?”

 

“Yes, she does. I’ve asked her.”

 

“All right. Can you bring her to Cold Case HQ in the morning?”

 

Mary had the address from the card. “What time?”

 

“First thing. Say nine o’clock?”

 

“No problem.”

 

“Stay with her tonight and I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye.” 

 

Mary put down the phone and hugged Helen. “Tomorrow at nine. We’ll sort it all out.”

 

\- - -

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Boyd glanced at his watch for the third time. It was 0845.

Eve had nothing really to report. The PCR machine still hadn’t finished its run so there wasn’t an ID for the DNA samples yet, assuming that the murdered woman’s or the other samples’ profiles were even in the database. The only bright spot was that her clothes had been from a well known designer and quiet expensive. Stella had just finished a detailed history of the warehouse and surrounding businesses in the area. Most of the warehouses in the area had also been derelict for just as long a time that anyone could have buried in there without being detected. Spence had come up with list of nearly a hundred over thirty-five year old women that had disappeared between 1993 and 1998 that may have had the means to dress in expensive designer clothing. The next step would be to find a photo and details of the dress. The team would then start telephoning NOKs to find out if their missing relative had ever worn clothes from that particular designer in an attempt to identity the woman.

 

Boyd knew it was all going to take time. Despite all that was going on, his mind drifted back to Helen Chandler. She would be coming in soon and hopefully Grace could unlock whatever barriers there were to find out why she’d been so scared. 

 

He didn’t have to wait all that long. They were early.

 

A young DC escorted both a tired looking Helen Chandler and Mary Carr down into the bullpen. 

 

Helen walked straight over to Boyd. “Mr Boyd, I just wanted to say thank you for the other day. I don’t remember much but Mary says that you saved my life.”

 

Slightly embarrassed, Boyd smiled weakly. He wasn’t sure how to respond. As far as he was concerned, he’d done what anyone else would’ve done. 

 

Helen was relieved that the modest policeman didn’t appear to be badly injured. “Are you okay?”

 

“Just a few minor bumps and bruises.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

“Thank you for coming in. Grace will take you through to her office.”

 

Boyd watched as the three women settled into Grace’s office. The team were busy tracing the dress while he retired to his office to observe via the webcam link.

 

Losing track of time, Boyd watched as Grace skilfully put both young women at ease; allowing Helen to feel relaxed enough to start probing deeper. The profiler had made them teas and offered biscuits, while they’d chatted about everything else but what had happened to Helen. They’d talked about the latest soaps and even Liverpool’s great win the other night. It was all designed to gain the trust of Helen and to allow her to feel as comfortable as possible.

 

Boyd’s phone rang.

 

Angry, he thought this had better be important. He told the team not to interrupt him unless it was very important. “Boyd.”

 

“It’s Eve.”

 

He’d forgotten about Eve. She’d been in her lab.

 

Eve immediately recognized Boyd’s curt response. This was no time for idle chit chat. He wanted whatever she had quickly. “The woman was Chantelle Hassell. She was forty three years old and from Kensington. Her husband is very rich. Stella is getting together the bio.”

 

“Thanks. Tell Spence and Stella to handle the NOK.”

 

“Sorry?” Eve was stunned. Boyd usually liked to be hands on. The Hassells were not only rich, they were more than likely well connected people. And that meant they only wanted to speak to senior officers. 

 

“You heard. Tell Spence to handle it.” Boyd hung up. He was far more interested in what Helen Chandler was about to say. 

 

Grace started to talk Helen through what had happened. She’d been slowly and carefully moving backwards in time, gently teasing the story out of the young woman. 

 

Boyd was on the edge of his seat as Helen described her flashbacks and the events of the crash. Grace somehow got her to talk, delving ever deeper into the recesses of the terrified woman’s mind, unblocking the barriers to find the truth. And that truth was shocking. She’d been kidnapped and repeatedly raped. Shaking his head, Boyd wondered if she’d known that she was probably going to be killed at the end of it all. It had been torture, but it had been worse than that. It seemed that she was the prize in a game of cards. It was unbelievable the depths that men could sink. It was no wonder that Helen Chandler had completely repressed the memory of what had happened to her all those years ago. 

 

Grace had read his mind. Peter knew that the key to Helen remembering was one of the seven men that she’d turned to face in the intersection. Helen couldn’t visually identify her attackers as she’d been blindfolded the entire time, but she’d heard at least two of them speak and she’d described one of them as having a strange accent. But now she had the chance to put a face to that voice.

 

Slowly, Grace laid the photos of the seven men, one after the other, until Helen stopped Grace at a man in a dark blue suit that had been talking on his mobile. Helen’s hand flew to her mouth but she was unable to stop an anguish cry and she begun to cry uncontrollably. 

 

Boyd knew it had to be one of the men. 

 

Watching Grace and Mary console Helen, Boyd took the photo of the man from his file that was the same as Helen had picked out. Uniform had come up with an ID for only three of the males in the intersection, but this man wasn’t one of those. Facial recognition proved useless. The man had not been convicted of a crime in the UK. He just looked ordinary with neatly trimmed black hair, clean shaven and dressed in an expensive suit. Over thirty years in the police force had left him in no doubt that ordinary men can and did do horrific things.

 

After Grace had set up a counsellor for Helen, she ushered her and Mary out of CCU and then returned to flop down opposite Boyd, totally exhausted emotionally. They didn’t say anything for a few minutes. They didn’t need to. Both wondered if Helen Chandler would ever recover completely. If she did, they both knew it would take a long time. But they could help by finding the men who’d done this to her. 

 

“How are you?” Grace asked. 

 

Peter had been staring at the man’s photo. “Me? Okay.” He knew she had to be just as tired as he was. “You?”

 

“Fine.”

 

They both lied and they both knew it. 

 

“I’ll call Uniform to canvass the area again with the man’s photo.” Peter returned to the task at hand. It was much easier than trying to make sense of why the men had done what they’d done to Helen. He’d organize another door to door from St James’ Park to Victoria Street. It was a big area, but they had very little else to go on. 

 

“I’ll go and write up my notes.” Wearily, Grace stood up, not relishing the prospect of going over it all again, but it was a necessary evil should the case ever come to court 

 

“Grace, you did a great job today with Helen.” Peter meant every word of it. 

 

Official praise? He must be knackered. Grace quirked up an eyebrow and was about to reply when his phone rang.

 

“Boyd.”

 

“It’s Spence. Big trouble. Chantelle Hassell’s husband, Mark Hassell, called the Commissioner. And he wants to know why you aren’t here.”

 

“What?”

 

“They’re friends, apparently. Same school.”

 

Boyd scoffed. Damned old school tie shit.

 

Boyd’s landline rang. 

 

“Hold on, Spence.” He picked up the phone. “Boyd.” 

 

Right on cue, it was the Commissioner. It was almost funny to Boyd that it was only the other day that Havering had recommended him for a bar to his QPM and now he was giving Boyd a right bollicking, wanting to know what he was playing at. He ordered the DSI to get down to Kensington ASAP. All Boyd could do was say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’. 

 

After Sir Martin hung up on him, he returned to Spence. “That was Havering. Give me a run down on what you’ve got.”

 

Spence briefly gave an overview of the background on Chantelle Hassell and the husband, Mark, which Stella had put together. Mark Hassell was a very wealthy entrepreneur and obviously had a lot of influence.

 

Sighing, Boyd slowly stood up. “Tell Hassell I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

 

“Okay, boss.”

 

It never rains but it pours, he thought. Did a DSI really need to there to confirm that Mrs Hassell’s body had been found? He didn’t think so. Spencer was more than capable to break the bad news to Mark Hassell. It was about the abuse of power through funny handshakes and silly coloured ties. He’d much prefer to find out how the search for the man in the dark suit and strange accent was proceeding. 

 

Grabbing his coat, and although he could move his sore left arm a little more, he knew he shouldn’t drive. He opened Grace’s door. “Grace, I need a lift to Kensington.”

 

“Kensington?”

 

“The woman in the warehouse. Her name was Chantelle Hassell and she lived there.”

 

“Oh right. Sorry.” Grace had been engrossed in the Helen Chandler case, she’d forgotten about that poor woman buried alive. “Fill me in while I drive.” 

 

\- - -

 

“Christ!” Boyd got out of the car and was gobsmacked. They’d driven passed a formerly landscaped garden up to a large Georgian style mansion. It all looked very expensive and there was no way Boyd could live here. He much preferred the small house he shared with Grace. He had no idea what he’d do with all those extra rooms and anything more than one bathroom was extravagant. And he cringed at the thought of doing all the cleaning and dusting. It was hard enough doing their two bedroom house.

 

Grace was thinking the same thing. 

 

An annoyed Spence came up to the car as they parked. “Sir, I don’t think they think I’m a policeman.” The groundsman had been very suspicious when he’d first pulled up. The DI didn’t think they saw very many black men in this leafy suburb. Wankers, he thought angrily.

 

“Have you spoken to Mark Hassell?”

 

“Briefly. We didn’t get passed the front door. I just told him we’ve positively IDed his wife. He looked shocked and then called Havering. He wouldn’t answer any questions until the senior officer turned up.”

 

“You and Stella go back to base. Collate what you’ve got with Eve. Dig deep.” 

 

“Sir.” Spence and Stella nodded. 

 

“Right. Better go in.”

 

A maid ushered them into the reading room. 

 

“Mr Hassell.” Boyd introduced himself to Mark Hassell.

 

Grace took notes of their interview. Mark Hassell reported his wife missing thirteen years ago. On the 2nd of March 1996, she’d gone shopping in Chelsea and had never returned. She’d been reported missing that night to the local police station. The standard searches and appeals had been made but to no avail. No one had seen her or her Mercedes convertible since. Mark hadn’t been home at the time, but confirmed that the suit she’d been found in was from her favourite designer. After two years, Mark had applied to have her listed as presumed dead and then he’d married Dianne Hunter.

 

Mark Hassell’s upper class tone of voice immediately grated on Boyd. Peter disliked toffee twits. He was a man who got what he wanted, when he wanted. Somehow he’d managed to get far more than the normal amount of resources usually allocated to a misspers. 

 

Grace’s suspicions grew as soon as she saw Dianne Hunter, when she brought in some tea. She wrote in big letters to find out how soon after declaring that Chantelle was dead had he married Dianne. 

 

Boyd listened to Mark go through his story and straight away he knew that it was exactly that. A fabrication. His instincts screamed at him and he believed them. He couldn’t explain it. He just knew it. Hassell’s shock at them finding Chantelle was genuine. It wasn’t the fact that she was dead, it was because they’d found the body when he’d thought it would never be found. 

 

One look at the photo of Chantelle and he could understand why she had to go. The house was beautifully furnished with art and nice nic nacs but Chantelle had been a overweight middle aged woman. Although she’d dressed in designer clothes, they had not been suited to her larger figure. But Dianne Hunter was younger and beautiful. Hassell had found himself a trophy wife and Boyd wondered when exactly did their relationship actually start.

 

Boyd had had enough. His headache returned with a vengeance. “All right. Mr Hassell, that’s enough for today. We’ll see ourselves out.” 

 

As they drove back to CCHQ, Boyd rang Spence to get the paperwork started to record all Hassell’s phones. If it was up to him, he would have brought them both in then and there, but he needed a little more background and not to mention evidence before he could arrest either of them. It was a pity he couldn’t arrest them just for being knobs, he smirked.

 

\- - -

 

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

~~~~

A still emotional Helen Chandler blew her nose as she entered the lift to go up to Ann Black’s office. She kept reliving the nightmare in her mind. In a daze, Helen followed Mary. Ann would be looking after Helen for the rest of the day as Mary had to go back to work. 

 

The lift stopped at on the ground floor and three well dressed men entered the lift. They gave the women a cursory look over, checking them out and then ignored them, carrying on their conversation, as if they didn’t exist. 

 

“Mike, you’re coming tonight, aren’t you?”

 

“I’ll be there.”

 

“Steve wouldn’t miss it.” 

 

“No way. I’m coming. Cards, booze and so much more ….”

 

Helen had watching the numbers above the lift’s doors and hadn’t seen the men entered, but then her heart almost literally stopped. That man’s voice. The accent. It was him. No question about it. She had to get out of there. She had to run. Bile rose up her stomach and she gagged it back down. At first she couldn’t speak. Her jaw refused to work. 

 

The list stopped and the doors opened. 

 

Helen saw her chance. Grabbing Mary’s arm, she yanked her toward the door, but Mary dropped her handbag. 

 

By this time, the men stopped and were looking at what was going on. Steven Banks wondered what these two dopey cows were doing. 

 

Wriggling out of Helen’s grip, Mary bent down to pick it up. She hadn’t seen Helen’s scared look and wondered what was going on. It wasn’t Ann’s floor.

 

And when Banks’ and Helen’s eyes met, the look of disdain tore at her. He had no idea who she was, but she knew exactly what he’d done to her. 

 

“Don’t come any …. No more …. Please .…” Helen whimpered as she backed out of the lift. Over and over in her mind, this man kept saying ‘I’m coming’ like a tape recorder stuck on playback as he abused her all those years ago. Again, she remembered his rough hands clawing all over her defenceless body, pinching and squeezing, as he emptied his seed into her. There was no way that was going to happen again. She ran.

 

Mary heard Helen scream as the lift closed, leaving her alone in the lift with the men. Mary was shocked. What had happened? The frightened look on Helen’s face was the same she’d worn the night before. For the first time, Mary looked at the men in the lift with her. All had looks of contempt on their faces like she was some sort of nutter. The dark haired man in the middle looked familiar. He’d spoken with a weird accent. Helen must’ve recognized him. It had to be the guy in the photo that Dr Foley had shown her. 

 

Mary quickly pressed the button to get out at the next floor. She didn’t look at the guys again, she was too scared to. 

 

When the lift stopped, she raced out and down the flight of stairs as quickly as she could to get back to where Helen should have been, but she wasn’t there. Where had she gone? Mary tried phoning her but there was no answer. She went to her car but she wasn’t there. She tried Ann’s office but she wasn’t there and Ann had joined in the search after Mary explained what had happened. 

 

They couldn’t find her. 

 

Frantic, Mary phoned the policeman, Boyd, filling him on what happened. 

 

\- - -

 

“Shit!” Boyd yelled out, as he hung up the phone “Grace, head toward Victoria Street.”

 

“What’s happened?”

 

“Mary Carr thinks Helen Chandler may have seen one of her attackers. And now she’s missing.”

 

Grace turned the car around and headed toward Scotland Yard. 

 

Peter hit the speed dial on his phone. “Spence, its Boyd. Get me a location of this phone. Now.”

 

“Hang on.” Spence booted up the GPS program and typed in the number. “Near St James’ Park. The Broadway and Old Queen’s gate. Elevation high.”

 

“Thanks Spence.” She was still in Ann Black’s building, Boyd realized. “The Broadway, Grace.”

 

“Right.”

 

Grace parked the car outside the tall office building and walked straight to the security office. They asked for copies of the CCTV footage of the foyer and the lifts for the last hour as well as a list of all visitors to the building. The security guard noted also the emergency exit door to the roof had been opened in the last twenty minutes. He’d thought it could be smokers.

 

Spence said the phone had a high elevation so Grace and Boyd headed for the lifts and to the top floor.

 

After negotiating the stairs to Boyd opened the door to the roof top area. 

 

Panicking, Helen heard the door open. They were coming after her. She’d run blindly to get away and found herself hidden behind an air-conditioner duct, cornered and once again defenceless. She barely breathed. She willed her heart to stop beating because they were sure to hear it pounding in her chest and find her. Helen tried to look for another avenue of escape, but there was only one that could see. There was no way that she’ll let herself go through all that again. 

 

As the footsteps got closer, she made her choice. Helen dashed for the ledge and clambered over the rail.

 

Boyd saw a flash of movement close by and dived at her.

 

Helen prayed for forgiveness and her last thoughts were of her family and friends.

 

Suddenly, she felt large hands grab her waist just like they’d done before. With all her might, she lashed out with an elbow, connecting solidly with bone and cartilage. She felt the man’s grip weaken but not weaken. Only after several more solid hits, did he let go and Helen Chandler jumped.

 

Grace had gone around the other side, but came running when she’d heard the screaming. She found Peter slumped against the ledge, bleeding copiously from an obviously broken nose. 

 

“FUCK!” After spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva, Boyd yelled at the sky, more out of frustration of not being able to prevent her jumping than from the pain of his damaged nose.

 

Knowing exactly what she’d find, Grace still had to look and leant over the ledge. Helen Chandler’s dead body, twisted unnaturally and oozing blood resting on the clear canopy above the main entrance to the building. 

 

Boyd didn’t need to look over the edge. He knew exactly what he’d find. Memories of Mel Silver’s body landing on his car still caused an occasional nightmare. 

Grace tried to console Peter, but he brushed off Grace’s hand on his shoulder. He didn’t need solace at the moment. He was angry. Angry at himself for not having the strength to hold onto Helen, and he was even angrier at the men who’d driven her to this. 

 

With blood still dripping from his nose, Boyd was a man on a mission, looking for the men responsible. Grace could only travel in his wake as they made their way back down the stairs and into the lift. 

 

As they emerged from the lift, Ann and Mary were just coming out of the other lift. 

 

“Christ, what happened to you?” Both young women said simultaneously. The policeman’s nose was bleeding and slightly skewed. He looked liked he’d been punched.

 

Boyd ignored them. “Have you seen the man Helen saw?”

 

“No,” Mary answered.

 

“Have you seen Helen?” Ann asked.

 

It was obvious they didn’t know what had happened. Boyd closed his eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

 

Before Grace could explain the girls heard the approaching sirens. The red and blue flashing lights of emergency lights filled the foyer. 

 

The girls saw a crowd outside the main entrance all looking up. As the approached the door, they recognized Helen’s clothing and couldn’t help but stare at all the blood. Their friend was dead. 

 

“What happened?” Ann turned back toward Boyd. Her anger boiled over when he didn’t immediately answer. “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

 

“Ann, she jumped.” They deserved the truth.

 

“No! I don’t believe you!” Ann wailed.

 

“I tried ….” Not hard enough, he knew. He felt so guilty.

 

Ann launched herself at him, pummelling his chest with her fists. 

 

Boyd deserved this. He should’ve been able to stop her but he couldn’t hold on. Eventually he grabbed Ann’s arms to stop the flurry of punches, before she collapsed in his arms, sobbing as she gripped onto his shirt with all her might. He held onto her until Mary took her from his arms. 

 

The two girls held onto each other and cried for their friend.

 

\- - -

 

After having his statement taken by a local PC, Boyd slumped against column in the foyer, tired, fed up and with the headache. His broken nose still dripped blood and it hurt just moving his head even a little way.

 

Grace stood near Boyd, not saying anything. 

 

They both felt numb but guilty. Over and over in their minds, they questioned themselves whether they could’ve done something more to stop Helen Chandler tragically ending her life in that way. There were no real answers. They didn’t really know what was going on in her mind. They couldn’t have stopped her leaving CCHQ, she wasn’t under arrest and Grace couldn’t section her. But it still didn’t stop them thinking there must have been something they could’ve done.

 

“Peter, come on. To the hospital.” Grace pointed to the main entrance, which was now clear of onlookers. The fire brigade were in the final stages of removing the body. The ambulance had left and was replaced by the coroner’s men. 

 

He shrugged and limped off toward the car.

 

Still hugging each other, Ann and Mary had finished crying and were waiting around, not sure what they should do. Grace had consoled them and told them what was going to happen to Helen and that seemed to make them feel a little better. Grace had arranged for a PC to drive them home.

 

The lift door opened and the people inside strode off to entrance, a little taken aback at all the police and firemen outside and in the foyer. They had no idea what had happened. 

 

Mary looked up when she heard the clip clop of leather shoes on tile floor and she screamed, “That’s him!” She rushed over to the group. “You bastard! You killed her!”

 

Steven Banks immediately recognized the mad woman screaming at him. She was one of the two stupid tarts from the lift when they first arrived. Steve still had no idea what was going on. Ignoring her, he brushed her away and kept walking.

 

Hearing the commotion, Boyd turned around. It was the man from the CCTV footage at the intersection. 

 

Ann and Mary followed Banks, yelling abuse all the way until Grace pulled them aside while Boyd spoke to the man.

 

Showing his ID, Boyd took him aside. “What’s your name?”

 

“Steven Banks with a vee. Thank you for getting those nutters away from me.”

 

“Address?” Boyd just managed to ignore his comment. He hated him already. 

 

“Here’s my card. I work from my apartment. I’m a management consultant for several large corporations.”

 

Smug bastard, Peter thought. He didn’t care if he was Rupert bloody Murdoch. “Wait here.” The DSI then called Stella and got her to run on a check this Steven Banks, but was disappointed because he was clean. After a deep breath he cautioned Banks and then asked him about the accident and Helen Chandler. 

 

Banks barely remembered what the woman in the lift looked like and denied ever knowing this woman and eventually lost his patience with him, and started to raise his voice at him. He didn’t have to act innocent. He was. He had no idea what happened two days ago.

 

By the state of this policeman, he looked like he’d just been in a fight and possibly not all there. He decided to change tack. “Look, Superintendant,” Banks sneered. “I think you need to go to the hospital. I don’t know what you’re talking about. As far as I know nothing happened two days ago. If you want to question me further, I want my lawyer present,” Steve threatened. 

 

To Banks’ surprise, the policeman didn’t back down, he kept going after him. It was only when Boyd started to point a finger into his chest and angrily spit that he knew he’d done it and wouldn’t stop until he proved it did the woman with him pull him away.

 

“Boyd!” Grace grabbed his arm and yanked him away. She’d recognized that Boyd had lost his patience and was fast losing control. She walked him away from Banks. “Enough!”

 

A further shake of Grace’s head was enough to curb his desire to take out his frustrations on the guy. With Helen dead, the only evidence that something had happened had disappeared too. They had no idea where the attack had taken place so there was no physical evidence. And even if Helen had still been alive, it was doubtful that a jury would convict someone solely based on what they sounded like. He knew he was the guy. They just had no proof and so Boyd realized he’d have to let the bastard go. “Banks, you can go.” 

 

“Thank you.” Banks straightened his suit jacket and left the building. 

 

Ann and Mary watched as the man left. Both were livid now. The two women raced back toward Boyd.

 

“Why did you let that bastard go?” accused Mary. She knew he was guilty. 

 

“Mary, Boyd had to. There was no proof.” Grace tried to keep her voice calm, hoping that would also calm Mary. Despite everything that Helen had said, there had been no proof. It had been her word against his. She didn’t like it, but that was the reality of the situation. 

 

“Then get the fucking proof. I saw Helen’s face. She knew it was him. I know it was him.” Mary was so angry, her voice hitched high. She even believed that they knew it was Banks. 

 

“Mary, come on. Let’s get you home.” Ann wrapped an arm around her friend and hugged her. 

 

Mary tried to shrug her off but Ann wouldn’t let go. They held onto each other.

 

“Peter, I’ve organized one of the PCs to drive the girls home.”

 

“Thanks, Grace.”

 

The couple watched as a PC escorted the two young went out of the building. Neither of them looked upwards to where the body of the friend lay. 

 

“Let’s go.” Grace ushered the DSI out of the building and to the hospital.

 

\- - - 

 

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

All the team had been shocked when Grace had called, filling them in what had happened to both their boss and the poor woman. There was disbelief that Boyd had gone to hospital again and that turned to downright astonishment when told that Helen Chandler had jumped to her death. 

 

Everything was ready for when Boyd came back. The team waited around nervously for their boss and Grace to come back. Stella and Spence had updated the board with what new information they’d discovered. Both had practically memorized the details of the background information they’d gathered. 

 

Stella already knew that Boyd was pissed off but her information wasn’t going to improve his mood. She could almost picture the dark ominous clouds over his head. A deeper look into Steven Banks and his two associates had drawn a blank. All were clean. They’d met at a very good public grammar school and gone to the right University. All were single and making a lot of money doing whatever management consultants did. 

 

Spence had a little more luck with Mark Hassell and Dianne Hunter. They’d married an almost respectable six months after Chantelle had been declared dead. But his source at a daily gossip rag had rumours of Mark and Dianne having an affair two years prior to Chantelle’s disappearance. The general thinking was that Dianne had been behind her disappearance as she’d been getting impatient with Mark. He wouldn’t divorce Chantelle because it would’ve meant losing half his fortune in any settlement. But the paper never published it because Mark Hassell’s team of crack solicitors would’ve been on them like a ton of bricks, threatening six different kinds of law suits.

 

Spence had phoned Boyd with this information and agreed that they had enough to question him and Dianne Hunter over Chantelle’s murder. So while Boyd waited for his impromptu nose job at the hospital, Spence had picked them both up and now they were cooling their well bred heels in CCHQ’s holding cells. It felt great to take them away in a police car. Arrogant tossers, Spencer thought. He hoped they’d felt really uncomfortable banged up for a while they waited for their high priced solicitors to turn up and for Boyd to return.

 

Spence and Stella did not want to be in suspect’s shoes. 

 

~~~

 

A bloodied and bruised Boyd burst through the door. His head still hurt and he looked like he felt. Total shit. “Spence – the files. Now.” 

 

The DI cringed a little but had the good sense to not ask how he was. Spence had been a boxer and he knew how painful a broken nose was. He gave the DSI both his and Stella’s file.

 

“Stella, coffee.” Boyd didn’t even wait for a reply. He slammed the door to his office and closed the blinds. He’d ruined yet another shirt. He quickly changed into a clean business shirt. 

 

Stella knocked on the door and sensibly waited for the signal to enter her boss’ office. “Sir.” She placed the coffee on his desk.

 

“Are the solicitors here yet?” Boyd asked as he did the top two buttons up on his shirt.

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Right. Tell me when they get here.” 

 

Stella nodded and left.

 

Boyd sat down and read the files. It hurt to put his glasses on. It was just another ache to add to all the pain that he had. But it was nothing to what Helen Chandler must have felt to make her jump.

 

He started with the Chantelle Hassell murder. Grace may have said that he was delaying facing what had happened to Helen Chandler and she would’ve been right. He needed to put the image of her falling out of his mind. At least for a short while.

 

As he read Spence’s file, his suspicions were confirmed. It did look like one or both were involved in Chantelle’s murder. They had the motive and the opportunity to do so. While they may not have got their hands dirty pouring the concrete over her coffin themselves, they had the means to employ and keep silent the people that had. All that was missing was the proof. There were the rumours but not much else. It was all circumstantial that couldn’t be substantiated. The CPS would laugh at him if they’d present what they had. He had to get a confession and he’d go after Dianne Hunter first to get it when her solicitor turned up.

 

He skimmed over Stella’s file on Steven Banks and friends. As he suspected, there was nothing to confirm what Helen Chandler had said had happened to her. None of them had even had a curb crawling warning. They were high flyers from wealthy and well-connected families. He didn’t feel happy about letting him go, but in the end he really didn’t have any choice. And he was also glad that Grace had been there to stop him punching Banks. 

 

He could at least try and put Hassell and Hunter away. It was time to go through what they had with his team. 

 

He knocked on Grace’s door. “Team chat, Grace.”

 

Spence just got off the phone. “Boss, Hassell’s solicitors are at the front desk.”

 

“Stella, get them out of holding and into the interview rooms.”

 

“Okay.” Stella left.

 

“Eve?”

 

“Nothing on the skeleton. No defence wounds. No blunt force skull wounds either.”

 

“DNA?”

 

“Mark Hassell’s as you’d expect. There is some alien DNA we haven’t identified on her suit.”

 

“Male or female?”

 

“Female.”

 

The female DNA could be Dianne Hunters’. He’d get a sample for testing. “Grace?”

 

“Go for Dianne. She had the most to gain from Chantelle’s death. Point out that she’s the same age as Chantelle now. Maybe she fears the same thing happening to her,” Grace paused. “Interview her with Stella. She’s young and beautiful and that might help you remind her of what could happen to her if she loses her looks.” And Grace was grateful that the Frenchwoman wasn’t there. It would’ve embarrassed her no end.

 

Boyd agreed with all of Grace’s analysis. “You and Spence can observe. We’ll let Mark stew for a bit longer.”

 

\- - -

 

Watching from the other side of the one way mirror, Grace couldn’t find any of the usual hints that Hunter was lying. Her body language never changed and she hadn’t averted her gaze, maintaining eye contact and keeping that self-satisfactory smirk on her face, like she was indifferent to the whole thing. Grace pressed the earpiece mike. “I’m sorry, Boyd. I can’t tell if she lying.”

 

That was also apparent to Boyd, but he pressed on regardless, trying one more time. “Let’s go over this one more time, Ms Hunter?” Boyd was frustrated. Hunter hadn’t cracked. She’d maintained her innocence for the last hour, never getting losing her cool at all.

 

“If you must, Superintendant.” Dianne was bored as she picked at her nails. She’d have to get a manicure after this. Her nail polish was beginning to flake.

 

“When did you first meet Mark Hassell?”

 

“At a cocktail party in 1991.”

 

“And then …”

 

To Dianne, this was easy. All she had to do was follow the story her lawyers made up. She’d been a good liar all her life. “At various parties. I was on the same committees as Chantelle.” Chantelle had no idea they were having an affair. It was their private joke. 

 

“You married Mark six months after Chantelle was declared dead, but I think you were sleeping with him well before that. Were you?” 

 

Her solicitor, Greg Bryant, was about to object when Dianne stopped him.

 

“It’s all right, Greg.” Dianne smirked, tossing her hair to the side seductively, “You seemed obsessed with my sex life, Detective.” 

 

Stella butted in. “Answer the question.” 

 

“If you must know. No. I did not have sex with him until after a few weeks after Chantelle’s memorial service.” Dianne let her mind wonder back to that time straight after sealing the fat cow Chantelle in the box. Mark had taken her hard and fast in his limo. They’d never felt such power before or ever again. It had been very arousing. She continued, “As I’d been Chantelle’s friend, I’d been helping Mark through that very difficult time. And when Mark had asked me to help him sort through Chantelle’s clothes, well, one thing led to another, and that was the first time.” 

 

Boyd knew he wasn’t getting anywhere. “We’re going to take a DNA sample from you to eliminate you from the inquiry.”

 

Diane’s heart skipped a beat. Her finger dug hard into her cuticle. It was the only outward sign of alarm. She’d help shove Chantelle in the box and had whispered in her ear that she knew exactly how to turn Mark on just for a final insult. After a brief moment of panic, she remembered that there must be many photographs of them hugging at social functions. She was confident her solicitors would find a photo of them together. They had nothing.

 

Her lawyer knew that with any serious offence the police could forcefully obtain a sample if they wanted to and so he nodded. They had no choice.

 

“All right.”

 

“Spence!”

 

Spence entered the room, obtained the sample and left.

 

“Interview terminated 1525. DC Goodman will escort you out of the building” Boyd remained in the observation area while Stella left with a confident Dianne and Mr Bryant following.

 

Grace passed Boyd a coffee. “She’s a cool one.”

 

“She’s either a very good liar or she’s telling the truth.”

 

Both Grace and Peter didn’t believe that she had nothing to do with the death. 

 

“The DNA sample didn’t even upset her.”

 

“Let’s just hope that it’s a match for the female DNA.” Peter sipped the strong black coffee and wondered whether that would be enough either. He moved across to look into the other room. Mark and his lawyer were looking agitated. Good, Boyd thought. He’d let them stew for a bit longer while he finished his coffee. “We’ll interview Mark. See if he confirms everything Dianne said.”

 

“All right.”

 

At first, the interview started out as to be expected. Mark Hassell had practically repeated everything that Dianne had said. It was clear that they’d come up with the same cover story and were sticking to it. It was time to dig a little more.

 

Boyd opened the file and took out a photo of Chantelle taken at charity function. She’d been well dressed, but she was a large woman and looked older than she was. Along side that he put a newspaper photo of Dianne Hunter dated around the same time. In the photo, she was dressed in a one piece swimsuit with a sarong slung low over her hips. She had been and still was beautiful. The contrast couldn’t have been clearer.

 

“So, Mark ….” Thinking that Mark wouldn’t be called by his first name by the likes of him, Boyd decided to go digging and pointed to Dianne’s photo, running his finger over her most obvious attributes. “How much would it have cost you if you’d have wanted to divorce Chantelle?”

 

“I loved her. I wouldn’t have. I still miss her ….” Feigning upset, Mark looked at his solicitor, Andrew Essex, pleading for him to make Boyd stop.

 

Boyd almost laughed out loud. 

 

“You moved on fairly quickly,” Grace pointed out. She’d spotted his tell. He’d tried to disguise it but it hadn’t worked. He wasn’t as good as liar as Dianne. 

 

“We got married six months after Chantelle had been declared dead.”

 

“I was devastated when my husband had died. It took years before I could even think of moving on. I think most people would say the same.” Grace recalled throwing herself into her job and her kids. Anything to keep her busy and not thinking of what she’d lost. Although she’d eventually moved on and was very happy with Peter, a part of her still fondly remembered the years she had with Barry.

 

“That’s you.” Mark covered his anxiety well by thinking that who’d have this doctor anyway. He wouldn’t go anywhere near her. She was very plain and had obviously not gone to the right schools amongst everything else.

 

“So how much would it have cost you to divorce Chantelle and shack up with Dianne?” Boyd deliberately used the vernacular, trying to provoke him. “You’d been married for fifteen years so I’m thinking you didn’t have one of those horrible American type prenuptial agreements. What’s half of your worldly fortune?” Boyd flicked through the file to find the amount. "Thirty million. That’s a lot.”

 

“It might be to you, Detective.”

 

“Yes, it is. It’s thirty million motives.”

 

Andrew Essex knew that Boyd was fishing. Mark had been doing very well so far. He hoped that he’d continue not to react to Boyd.

 

“Dianne Hunter had been your closest friend after Chantelle disappeared. I can’t help but wonder just how close.” Boyd pushed the photo of Dianne closer to Mark Hassell. “And when your affair actually started.” 

 

“That’s none of your business.”

 

“Yes, it is.” Boyd looked at poor Chantelle, dumped for a trophy wife. “So when did it happen? Three months? A month? At the memorial service?” Boyd leered at Mark. “On the way to the funeral home?”

 

Andrew Essex’s hand reached out and stopped Mark from responding angrily.

 

Boyd picked both photos up, comparing them. “No. I’d say before. Well before. Years before. Perhaps even exactly two years before.” Boyd leaned in closer. His large frame easily closing the gap between them, trying to intimidate the businessman and repeated, “Yes. Two years. Any man would have. Especially the way Ms Hunter looks.”

 

Mark used all his powers of restraint not to react. How the hell did he know that? He had no idea. They thought they’d been very discreet.

 

“Mr Boyd, that’s enough.”

 

“I don’t think it is, Mr Essex.” 

 

Grace kept watching Mark Hassell, analysing his responses and his reactions to Boyd’s accusations. There were onto something, but without a confession or new proof, they’d have to stop soon. 

 

“I think you killed your wife so you could formalize your affair with Dianne Hunter.”

 

“I wouldn’t ….”

 

“I think you couldn’t trade Chantelle in so you killed her.”

 

“No!”

 

“You didn’t want to lose all that money. And you didn’t want to be the laughing stock at your club any more.” Boyd opened the file again. “The London. Very exclusive. All your friends turning up with beautiful wives while Chantelle looked downright ugly in comparison.” He flicked Chantelle’s photo at him. “Look at her.”

 

Mark barely caught the photo but didn’t look at it. He couldn’t. She made his stomach churn. He didn’t want to be reminded of her so he kept his eyes on Boyd, angry at him. Who was he to accuse him? 

 

But Boyd continued. He was on a roll. Keeping his voice as calm as he could, he was getting the reaction he was after. He just needed to push a bit further. “I do understand. I’ve seen your house. A man of your wealth and position wants to be surrounded with beautiful things. And Dianne Hunter is beautiful. Any man would want to have Dianne. It’s no wonder you killed Chantelle because who’d want to fuck her.”

 

“That’s outrageous! I’ll be making a complaint to ….”

 

“Boyd! Out here! Now!” 

 

Boyd’s earpiece crackled and instinctively his hand went to his ear. The commissioner. Shit! Boyd thought. “Interview suspended 1615.” He’d also have words with Spence as to why he hadn’t given him some warning that his boss was in CCHQ.

 

Grace winced as well. Sir Martin had practically yelled into the mike.

 

Both Grace and Boyd got up and left the interview room.

 

Havering didn’t even wait until Boyd had closed the door, launching into a tirade about the proper conduct of interviews, what constitutes a decent question and did he know who he was questioning. 

 

To Boyd, Sir Martin sounded like his headmaster, wrapping him over his knuckles for some minor infraction. Essex must have called him. Bloody school ties. 

 

Spence and Stella had been observing the interview and now looked decidedly uncomfortable. Normally these bollickings were conducted in private. Havering must be very angry or Hassell was very powerful. Boyd hadn’t been too bad, just pushing the line of questioning that they all thought had been the right one. 

 

“If you haven’t got any evidence then let him go. Now.”

 

“Sir Martin, …”

 

“No, Boyd. Let him go.” He wasn’t going to argue with the DSI. After a deep a breath, Martin waved his hand at Boyd’s battered face and head. “Look, Peter. You look like crap. I’m making allowances for what happened the other day.” He turned to Grace. “Take him home, Grace.” Turning back to his DSI, he put on his most authoritative tone. “You’re on medical leave until Monday.” Havering pointed to Spence. “In the meantime, your DI can find the woman you saved.”

 

Boyd breathed in sharply. All he saw was Helen’s body falling. Only now did it register that it had been the only time he’d seen her at peace. Perhaps she’d thought that killing herself was the only way to end her ordeal.

 

Grace got in ahead of Boyd to answer him. “Her name was Helen Chandler and she committed suicide this morning.”

 

“Jesus! Why?” His first thoughts were that Hair and Make Up would be very annoyed to miss the good PR opportunity.

 

Grace told the commissioner on the horrible details and concluded that they had a fair idea why she’d done it and that the team were working on it. When she looked back at Peter, she became worried. Instead of the expected anger, there was remorse. He was blaming himself for Helen’s death. It was totally unfounded but completely understandable.

 

“More the reason for you to go home, Peter.” Martin sympathised with the DSI. He’d been through the wringer this week – the review, the accident and now witnessing a suicide. 

 

“Sir, I’d rather ….”

 

“No, Boyd. Let Mr Hassell go now and then go home. I’ll calm them down so you won’t have to face a complaint. Have I made myself clear?”

 

“Sir.” Nodding, Boyd recognized he wasn’t going to change his mind. He then walked back into the interview room. 

 

Essex had had enough and stood up, ready to put a stop to the interview. “If you have proof of Mark Hassell’s complicity in any crime than produce it. Now. Otherwise, this interview is at an end. I’ll be lodging a formal ….” 

 

“You’re free to go. For the time being.” Boyd turned around and left, not bothering to wait for a reply and headed straight for his office. 

 

Peter packed the case files away in his suitcase and turned off his computer. After Spence had come for a brief chat so they could organize the team, he followed Grace out of CCHQ.

 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Mark Hassell and Andrew Essex chatted with the commissioner on the way out. Essex had been pleased that a phone call to his close personal friend, the Private Secretary to the Home Office, Havering’s boss, to voice his displeasure had been enough to stop these awkward questions.

 

\- - -

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

“Thanks.” Simon Farr-Jones paid the barmen for the drinks. 

 

Steve Banks, Richard Aldridge and Simon Farr-Jones headed for a secluded booth, then sat down. 

 

“To Ian.” For the last three years, the first drink was always a toast to their absent friend, Ian Powell, who’d died of cancer three years ago and was sorely missed.

 

Someone had left an evening paper behind and Richard flicked through the pages. He stopped when he recognized the policeman and pointed to the photo. “Here’s that arsehole, Boyd.”

 

Simon spun the paper around so he could read the article. It briefly outlined how a woman that DSI Boyd had pushed out of the way of a car a couple of days before had committed suicide. There was a standard file photo of Boyd and grainy CCTV shot of Helen Chandler. Now Simon knew why he’d been in that building. Helen Chandler had been the crazy woman in the lift. But why had the policeman accused them of practically killing her?

 

“Helen Chandler? Do you recognize her? Not today in the lift but ten years ago?” Lowering his voice, Simon asked the others. Boyd accused Steven of something that happened ten years ago. It could only mean one thing.

 

They all thought back.

 

When they’d been in school, once a month, they’d played cards for money in Ian Powell’s large flat. After they all started University, one day Ian had suggested they should make it more interesting by having a better prize, a girl. They’d all came up with the plan to abduct nobodies. They’d have their night of fun and then drug her so she wouldn’t remember what had happened. It had been perfect until Helen Chandler. They still had their monthly card nights with a similar prize, but now they could afford to use high-class escort girls that were very willing. 

 

The trouble was that none of them could remember Helen Chandler. For the entire time they had her, they’d kept a hood over their face so their victims wouldn’t have been able to identify them. The only time they’d raised the hood had been to put the gag on their mouth. It was possible that Ian had been the one to do it.

 

“There have been so many. How can we be expected to remember one more tart like Helen Chandler?” Richard laughed.

 

“Yeah. With a young one like her, she’d have been very tight.”

 

“Not after you finished with her, Simon.” 

 

All three men laughed. It was the standard joke that Simon was the horse among the friends.

 

“Boyd doesn’t know anything. I’ve put in a complaint. That should get him off our backs.”

 

“Look, don’t worry about it, Steve. This slut is dead. Whatever she had on us is gone now. We’ll all be fine.”

 

“Simon’s right.” Richard smiled. “My shout. Another scotch?”

 

After a few minutes, they didn’t notice the couple get up from the booth adjacent to theirs and leave the pub to call their friend, Mary Carr.

 

\- - -

 

With the dishes done, Grace and Peter had retired to the couch with a fresh bottle of red to watch a documentary on the History Channel. They’d kicked off their shoes and had rested their feet on the coffee table. Grace had nestled into Boyd and his arms had wrapped around her holding her close. 

 

As the credits scrolled at the end of the show, Peter closed his eyes and sighed. They’d been so engrossed in the show that he hadn’t realized her hand had snaked under his shirt and her fingers had been feathering slow circles over his skin as she watched the show. 

 

Hearing him sigh, Grace looked at Peter. He was a mess - all battered and bruised. Tape held his broken nose together and he snored as he breathed. The dark rings under his eyes weren’t caused by a lack of sleep. He was going to have two black eyes when he woke up in the morning. Sir Martin had been right. He needed time to recover.

 

She started to pull away from him but his hand stopped her.

 

He was enjoying her caresses. For the first time, he felt completely relaxed. His rational mind would’ve said that was probably due to the combination of his pain medication and the wine, but his heart would’ve said it was due to the wonderful woman by his side.

 

Grace knew they’d both be asleep soon – too much wine and a tough week contributed to that. But from experience, they’d regret falling asleep on their couch. It wasn’t good for their backs or their demeanour the next day. “Come on, Peter. Let’s go to bed.”

 

“I’m quiet comfortable here.”

 

“To bed.” 

 

“Hmmm.…” Peter’s fingers tenderly made their way down her neck.

 

Playfully, she slapped his hand away. “No. Bed. Now.” Grace wormed her away from him and stood up. “Maybe if you’re good ….” She teased and then spun around, suggestively swaying her hips as she walked away.

 

Cheeky, Peter thought and followed her up the stairs. She was good. Very good. 

 

~~~

 

They snuggled together, holding one another for several minutes, not moving, just enjoying being close.

 

Peter’s hand then slowly wandered over her bare side, just skimming over her soft curve of her hip. In the moonlight, her pearl white skin almost glowed. Wanting to kiss her, Peter started to move closer but had to stop. He groaned in pain and flopped back down, frustrated. His knee and left arm still bothered him and protested at the move. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s all right, Peter. Lie still.” Grace kissed his cheek. She’d seen all his bruises and scrapes when he’d undressed and it was no wonder he was in still in pain. She propped herself on her elbow and her fingers stroked his cheek. “I love you, bruises and all, and I’m wouldn’t to trade you in for a younger model like Hassell did.”

 

“Really?” Boyd thought the same. Being with Grace had been the best thing to happen in his life, and besides, he’d already had midlife crisis anyway.

 

“Well, if Fernando Torres walked through the door then it would be a different story,” Grace teased. 

 

Boyd laughed. “Stella says Cristiano Ronaldo is the hot stud. Not that I notice that sort of thing.”

 

“If you like arrogant prats who use way too much greasy hair product. Besides, I have a rule. If I can’t go out with a United fan, there’s no way that I could have anyone who played for United. Yuk!”

 

“Phew …. I’m safe.” Boyd had to smile. Their relationship may never have started if he’d been a Man U fan instead of a Chelsea fan. He’d have willingly switched allegiances to Liverpool if it meant being with her.

 

“You are.” She leant in closer and kissed him softly and lovingly as much as his broken nose would allow. “Most definitely.” Afterwards her hand traced around a nipple, gently tugging at the few hairs that surrounded it. Slowly, her fingers made the way down is flat stomach. Her warm breath tickled his ear, and in between nibbling on his earlobe, she whispered intimate details of what she wanted to do to him in a couple of day’s time when he felt better. 

 

Groaning, Peter closed his eyes, imagining their lovemaking and his arousal grew. His skin tingled wherever she touched him. 

 

Grace smiled when Peter moaned with disappointment. She’d detoured down his leg and pulled the quilt over them instead of stroking him. After kissing him again, she nestled back into his shoulder. “Get better, Peter, and then I’ll do all that. Whatever you want. I’m yours. I love you.”

 

That was all the incentive Peter needed. After tucking the quilt over her shoulder, he held her close. He realized that Grace had been the only woman he’d ever truly loved with all his heart and soul. She’d been the only woman who he’d ever felt completely comfortable with and really opened up to. He’d never been this way with Mary, even before Joe had become a rebellious teenager. Sometimes he didn’t deserve her, like what happened with Banks, but she’d understood what he’d been through and had forgiven him. “Grace, I love you, too.”

 

“I know. Go to sleep.” 

 

“Good night, my love.”

 

~~~

 

Over and over, in his dream, Boyd tried to grab Helen Chandler’s hand, but each time he missed, and had to watch her fall to her death. Suddenly the nightmare just got worse. Helen had morphed into Grace and she’d jumped. Now Peter screamed, “NO! Grace …. ”

 

Covered in sweat, he bolted upright. His heart pounded and he panted. Fully awake now, he turned toward where Grace laid on her side, fast asleep, reassured that she was still there, very much alive, and it had only been a bad dream. He felt a little foolish having a nightmare, but it had terrified him thinking that Grace had died. 

 

Parched, he quietly pulled back the quilt and walked to bathroom to drink a glass of water before returning to bed.

 

Grace rolled over. “Are you okay?” She’d felt him toss and turn, and then scream out her name.

 

“Just a nightmare.”

 

She squeezed his hand. “Helen?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you remember that Chinese proverb I said to you when I first started to work with you?” 

 

“Back then you were very fond of proverbs.”

 

Grace smiled as she nodded. She’d used them as a way of getting to know the enigmatic DSI Boyd. “This one was the one that if you save someone's life, you are responsible for them for the rest of their life.”

 

“I remember. Marina.” Marina Coleman had been a troubled girl who had been unable to accept her father’s death in a car crash. He’d dragged her away from what he’d thought was a burning car that turned out only to have been one of her experiments that helped to show that her dad hadn’t committed suicide. He’d been drawn to her just as he’d been drawn to Helen Chandler but he couldn’t really explain why.

 

For Grace, the psychology was straight forward. Guilt was at the heart of his nightmare. Boyd felt guilty that he couldn’t protect Helen Chandler, and this was compounded because it was very unlikely that Boyd would ever be able to arrest Banks and his mates. “Look at me, Boyd.” Grace didn’t wait for him to do it. She turned his head toward her and said with complete conviction, “You didn’t push Helen off the building. You didn’t make her jump. Those men who raped her did. So you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. But I understand why you do, and you’re not the only one to feel guilty too. I keep thinking that I should’ve driven her to the counsellor myself, but I didn’t. As the Yanks say, hindsight is a bitch sometimes.”

 

Boyd thought about it, and as usual, she was right about Helen Chandler. But that wasn’t what had made him scream in his nightmare. “You’re right, of course, but it was you.” 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m a nightmare.” Grace grinned.

 

Boyd had to laugh. She could be. Always pushing him, needling him, teasing him, but he wouldn’t have her any other way. He needed her to keep him sane. “No, Grace. You were in it.”

 

“Me?”

 

“At the end, you’d replaced Helen and jumped.”

 

“Oh, Peter.” That must have been horrible. She’d have woken up screaming too if she’d dreamed about Peter jumping to his death. She rolled in closer and whispered reassuringly, “That’ll never happen. I’m very happy at the moment.”

 

“I know, and I am too. You have a lot to do with that.” Wanting to forget all about the nightmare, Peter kissed her hair. “But you’ve also been in my dreams too.”

 

“Not Cate Blanchett?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Really?”

 

“All right. Just the once or twice, but they’re mostly of you. Of us. Together.” A wry smile grew on his face. “But I could say the same for you and Fernando.”

 

Grace laughed. He’d been right. Just before he’d woken her up, she’d been dreaming about a certain Spanish Liverpool forward. It was an occasional fantasy of hers, but most of her dreams revolved around the handsome man lying next to her. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe how lucky she was that a good-looking man like Peter was with her. “Me? You’re sure?”

 

“Yes, you. You’re the most beautiful profiler I know.”

 

“What about that Greta what’s her name?” She now felt a little silly that she’d been jealous because he’d flirted shamelessly with Greta Simpson. 

 

“Who?” Peter stroked her cheek and then kissed her lovingly, leaving her in no doubt exactly how he felt. “Grace, I love you.”

 

Content, Grace sighed, allowing herself to be carried away by his tenderness. It wasn’t something that one usually associated with Peter. The Peter she knew was just as passionate as the DSI Boyd was at work, but directed in a different direction. He’s an intelligent, quick-witted man, a fantastic lover and a closet romantic - all the things that she liked in a man. Like the few other serious relationships she’d had, he had his faults just as she did, but she loved him with everything that she was.

 

She glanced over his shoulder. It had to be some ridiculous time in the early morning and it was. It was just before two. “Love you, too. Now go to sleep, Peter.”

 

“Okay.” Boyd tried to gather her in his arms, but she was having none of it.

 

Grace rolled away from him. If they stayed cuddling together, they weren’t going to get any sleep. They’d continue caress each other as they chatted for God only knew how long. “Mr Torres is waiting for me. Go to sleep.”

 

Boyd chortled. “All right. ‘Night.”

 

\- - -

 

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

\- - -

 

Two days later ….

 

Boyd sipped his coffee and read the morning paper.

 

He’d actually enjoyed the last couple of days off work. After sleeping in, he’d lounged around, at home, doing nothing in particular but he wasn’t bored. He thought he might have been but he hadn’t, just relishing the time he spent with Grace. 

 

And Sir Martin had been right. His damaged body had needed the rest. His broken nose still troubled him. Grace said he still sounded like foghorn at night. The pair of shiners started to fade, just as his injuries from the car hitting him were. His knee wasn’t swollen any more and so the trip up the stairs to their bedroom wasn’t agony. He had the full range of movement again in his left arm although the bruise was still there. He was almost back to normal.

 

His mobile rang, but he didn’t recognize the number. “Peter Boyd.”

 

“It’s Ann Black.”

 

“Oh … how are you?” 

 

“I’m okay.” She wasn’t, but she was coping as well as expected.

 

“And Mary?”

 

“Mary’s fine.”

 

“What can I do for you?” He had said to call him if they needed to. He’d already been in contact with Mary, giving her an idea of what would be happening to Helen and when he thought she’d released to the funeral home.

 

“Helen’s funeral is on Saturday and her parents would like you and Dr Foley to come.”

 

“Are they sure? It’s not a private funeral?”

 

Grace looked up from reading the paper. They had to be talking about Helen Chandler’s funeral. 

 

“It’s fine. They asked me to call you.”

 

Grace nodded to Boyd, indicating that they should come. She wasn’t going to say that ugly American ‘C’ word, but it was the reason they should both go. 

 

“We’ll be there.” Peter wrote down the details.

 

“Thank you, Mr Boyd.”

 

“See you then, Ann. Goodbye.” 

 

\- - -

 

On Friday afternoon, Boyd and Grace dropped into CCHQ to see how things were going. 

 

Spence had jokingly accused of Boyd of not trusting him at lead the team properly in his absence. But the DI was so glad they’d bunked off the day before. He had a feeling that Boyd would be in on Friday anyway to check up on the team. Grace couldn’t stop him forever. 

Spencer filled him in on the progress, or more correctly, the lack of progress on the Chantelle Hassell case. Stella and Spence hadn’t turned up anything incriminating on Mark Hassell. And with Helen Chandler dead, her case had stopped as well. 

 

Boyd then sent them home. It had been a long week for everyone. 

 

Wanting to get a progress report from Eve, Boyd donned white coats and entered the lab. 

 

On one of the PM tables lay Chantelle Hassell’s bones, all neatly arranged. Boyd stopped briefly by them. It was the first time he’d seen her remains assembled and he made the same promise he did with all the other victims that come into CCU - he’d try and find out who had done this to her. 

 

Eve was examining the remnants of Mrs Hassell’s clothing. It was the second time she’d gone over the clothing and other evidence but with little other evidence to go, it was the only thing she could do. She heard a noise and looked up from her microscope. “Boyd?”

 

“Anything?” Boyd had put on a glove and picked up a shoe. 

 

“Not yet. I had a second pathologist look at the body. Nothing. The DNA is in the PCR machine and will be ready early in the morning.” Eve was frustrated. She wasn’t hopeful of getting anything. There wasn’t much left to test, only the wooden box. She didn’t think there would be much there. The wood was pine, extremely common. “Only the box is left.”

 

Boyd walked over to a very large table. Only one of the sides of the coffin had been put together. The rest was still covered in concrete dust and detritus from the warehouse redevelopment. The wood seemed well preserved, except for parts that Mrs Hassell had been lay on.

 

Boyd picked up a plank of wood that had scratches on one side of it. He remembered that Eve had said these had been made by Chantelle scratching at the inner surface of the box in a frantic but futile attempt to escape. The piece he’d picked up was from the top of her coffin and that had been easier for her to get at. He couldn’t imagine what she’d have gone through. Panic probably caused her to use up whatever oxygen had been available quickly and then she’d have lost consciousness. Poor woman, he thought. 

 

“How long would it have taken her to die, Eve?” he asked quietly.

 

After a quick mental calculation of the volume of the box and the average oxygen usage per minute, she replied, “Twenty minutes maximum.” Eve had returned to her examination of the material. She was looking for hair, fibres, blood or anything really to point to her attacker. 

 

Looking at the wood that hadn’t been examined yet, he picked up a plank and brushed off the dust. It just looked like an old piece of wood and then he noticed the plank that the one he’d just moved had been lying on. It had fewer scratches on it. There was something familiar about them. A pattern. He bent down to get a different perspective on the piece of wood. There was something there. “Do you have a brush?”

 

Eve turned around. “What for?”

 

“This piece. I think there something on it.”

 

Intrigued, Eve walked over to the pile of wood.

 

“Do you have tracing paper?” He remembered the Lovell case. A family drowned on the Miss Maria by the cocaine smuggler turned informer turned murderer, Fin Dawley. Smiling, Boyd looked up at the ceiling and then kissed the air. “Frankie, wherever you are, I could kiss you.” 

 

“Frankie as in Wharton? She’s at Cambridge.” Forensic scientists that have worked with Boyd and survived to tell the tale were not very common. And it helped that their field of expertise was relatively small and so everyone knows everyone else. One day, Eve might tell Boyd what Frankie had said about him when she went to her for advice before she’d accepted the job. 

 

“Yes, that Frankie. It was a case. A family drowned. Murdered. Frankie found the killer’s initials carved into wood on the sunken ship.”

 

“Hold on, Boyd. Don’t touch it. Let me get the camera and some special lights.” Now Eve was downright excited. She could see the faint outlines of something in the dust, but didn’t want to upset it without photographing it in situ. She wasn’t sure what would be visible once they removed the dust.

 

After Eve had taken photographs at various different angles using different lights, she carefully brushed away the dust to reveal a message. They didn’t need the tracing paper to make an etching of it. It was very clear.

 

“MH+DH did it 2 me,” Boyd read out the letters. It was clear as proverbial dog’s balls. Boyd shook his head and wondered what Chantelle Hassell would’ve been like alive. Remarkably, she’d been mentally strong enough just before she knew she was going to die to carve into the wood that her husband and her lover had done this to her. 

 

“ ‘Mark Hassell and Dianne Hunter did it to me.’ – I’d say that’s pretty convincing.”

 

“Me too.” 

 

Eve went over to the box of evidence and retrieved a large diamond wedding ring. It fitted perfectly in to the grooves. “This is what she used.”

 

“Thanks, Eve. You know what to do.” He was already walking out of the lab. “This has made my week.”

 

“Good work, Boyd ….” Eve said to back of the DSI. He was already out of the airlock, mobile in his hand.

 

\- - -

 

“I’m going to stomp on that foot in a minute,” threatened Grace. Boyd’s tapping foot had gone just past the mildly irritating stage and heading swiftly toward the downright annoying. And that was saying nothing of his incessant twirling and then knocking the corner of his phone on the table.

 

Boyd was waiting rather impatiently for Spence’s return. He’d called him up, filled him in and then told him to take some Uniform and go arrest Hassell and Hunter.

 

“What?” Boyd looked completely innocent. He was completely unaware what he was doing. He’d been thoroughly engrossed in Eve’s report and how he was going to approach the interviews.

 

“Stop tapping your foot and twirling your phone!” Grace growled, looking up from Eve’s report on the incriminating plank.

 

He looked at his hand as it was about to tap the phone on the table and realizing what he was about to do; he stopped. “Oh. Sorry.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

The couple returned to their reading.

 

Minutes passed and then the knocking started again.

 

“You do know how annoying that is?” Grace muttered. Was he doing it deliberately? Possibly. Sometimes Boyd could annoy even Mother Teresa into violence. 

 

“What is?” 

 

“That is!” Grace snatched the phone away. She wanted to scream. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

 

“I’m sorry, my darling. It won’t happen again.” Boyd tried to charm her into submission, putting on his sincerest voice and full smile.

 

“If you think that’s going to work then you’re….”

 

His mobile rang. 

 

With a glint in his eye, Boyd spun the phone around in his hand and tapped it once before answering it, but Grace was still quick enough to punch him. 

 

“Ouch!” Boyd rubbed his arm. “Sorry, Spence. That was Grace hitting me.”

 

“I’m sure you deserved it,” Spence chimed in with a smile. The morale of the team soared on the news of what had been written on the plank. He was going to have a great weekend for once. They were about to solve a case and he could celebrate.

 

“Where are you?”

 

“We’re parking now. And their solicitors have just arrived too.”

 

“Good. Get them into the interview rooms and we’ll have a quick chat before interviewing and then charging them.”

 

“Okay, boss.”

 

~~~

 

In the end, the interviews were over almost as soon as they’d started them. Both Mark and Dianne had been reminded that they were both still under caution and then Boyd once again asked them if they had anything to do with Chantelle’s death. As expected, they’d both denied it. 

 

Slowly, in silence and with great pleasure, Boyd had then laid out a very nice colour print of the plank.

 

For Grace, it had been interesting to see the colour drain from their faces. 

 

Under instructions from his solicitor, Mark Hassell hadn’t said anything. But Dianne Hunter had ignored her lawyer, and had been quick to blame Mark. She’d broken down, bawled her eyes out and had said that Mark had made her do it. 

 

Boyd and Grace looked at each other and almost laughed over her crocodile tears. 

 

At the end of a trying week, at least DSI Boyd had the great satisfaction of charging these two with murder. He wished he could’ve done that for Helen Chandler too. Spence and Stella had the pleasure of escorting them to the holding cells after they’d been processed with the custody sergeant. He was looking forward to their appearance in front of the Magistrate in the morning. He was hopeful that they should be remanded in custody to await their trial. 

 

\- - -

 

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

“We now commit Helen’s body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life,” recited the vicar solemnly, as the coffin was lowered into the ground. 

 

At the back of the assembled mourners, Grace stood holding Peter’s hand, feeling incredibly sad. She understood what Helen Chandler’s family and friends were going through. Burying her Barry had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. When she heard Helen’s mother softly sob, it nearly broke her heart. She could easily imagine herself reacting like Helen’s mother if one of her kids or Peter died. Just the thought of that happening was enough for tears to well up in her eyes. Taking out a tissue from her coat, she wiped them away.

 

Peter felt sadness at a life taken so young, but there was also a fair amount of frustration, anger and guilt because he hadn’t been able to stop Helen jumping and he couldn’t arrest those responsible for hurting her. When he heard Grace sniffle, he stopped thinking about himself and comforted her by squeezing her hand and rubbing his thumb gently over the back of it. 

 

Family and friends tossed dirt and flowers on top of the coffin and then left.

 

Silently Grace and Boyd slowly walked away, lost in their own thoughts. It had been a beautiful service. By the number of mourners, Helen Chandler had been well liked and had many friends. 

 

As they reached their car, Peter embraced Grace, his arms wrapping around her. He needed to feel her close to him. He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it had something to do with reassuring himself that she was with him, but he’d leave the psychology to Grace. It just felt like the right thing to do.

 

She melted into his arms. A cuddle was exactly what she needed, but it wasn’t enough to stop a tear falling. Funerals and weddings were guaranteed to make her cry.

 

“Grace, please don’t cry,” he whispered softly, kissing her hair. He couldn’t stand that. After wiping the tear away with his thumb, he caressed her face. “It’s all right. I love you.”

 

Sighing, Grace looked up at him. Those dark brown eyes seemed to bore straight into her heart and soul and fill them completely with his love. He loved her. It was an unequivocal statement of fact, straight from his heart. In the past, she’d accused him of not understanding women, but on this day, he knew exactly what she needed. And she loved him for it and everything else. “I know, Peter.”

 

After they hugged again, Boyd said, “Come on, let’s get a coffee.” Boyd got out his car keys and opened the door for Grace.

 

“Excuse me, Mr Boyd, Dr Foley.” Ann Black walked up to Grace and Peter.

 

“Hello, Ann,” Grace said. Ann had been crying, but seemed to be holding up well, although she did look understandably tired.

 

“The family would like you both to come to the wake, if you’re able.”

 

They had nothing planned. Boyd looked at Grace, who nodded in agreement. “If you’re sure it would be all right.”

 

“It is.” Ann gave them a card. “That’s the address.”

 

“We’ll be there.”

 

“See you there then.”

 

~~~

 

“I don’t want to calm down,” Mary fumed. She hadn’t cried since she’d seen Helen on the canopy. She’d barely slept. She just couldn’t find a way to get passed the all encompassing anger she felt and that was festering away at her soul. It wasn’t directed at her friend, Ann. It was placed firmly at the feet of that bastard Steven Banks and his mates. They had taken away the one thing that made her happy.

 

Ann took her drink away. “You’ve had too much to drink and this isn’t the time or the place.” 

 

They were now sitting in the beer garden. Ann had seen how much Mary had been drinking and had taken her outside her to where it was quiet and she could get some air and calm down.

 

“I don’t care.” Steven Banks and his friends were responsible for Mary dressing in black on this day. She was sure about that even before her friend Alex had overheard a group of men that looked like those involved talking about Helen as she if she were nothing. They’d done what Helen had said and done it to more than just her and then they’d practically murdered her. She was going to make them pay. For the last two days, she’d found out everything she could about the men. It helped working in the insurance industry as she’d been able to access their financial and other records and now she knew where they lived and even where they ate and drank.

 

“Come, Mary. I’ll take you home.”

 

“No!” Mary seethed. “I can’t get Helen out of mind.”

 

“I know what you mean.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“I know you’re upset ….”

 

“Upset? You have no fucking idea.” Mary had lost more than a friend - it went deeper than that. They didn’t know she loved Helen. “I don’t know how you can so easily accept this.”

 

“I have to.” Ann had to otherwise she’d lose herself in her grief.

 

“No, you don’t have to. You can do something about it. I am.” The alcohol had given her the Dutch courage she needed. “I’m going to do something about those bastards.”

 

Ann wondered what she meant. Did she mean that she wanted to confront them? Or did she mean something more? “You don’t mean ….”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s not right.”

 

“They’re free and we buried Helen today. That’s what’s not right.”

 

“I know, but ….”

 

“I want revenge for what they did to her.”

 

“Look, Mary ….”

 

*

 

After finishing his drink, he needed some air and walked outside, happy for the change of scenery. It felt like everyone in the room had been watching him. He was sure it wasn’t deliberate, but it had made him feel a little uncomfortable. 

 

Mr and Mrs Chandler had come up to him and had talked about Helen. All through the conversation, he’d wondered, somewhat strangely, if it would’ve been better if she’d been hit by the car and killed instead. They wouldn’t have the horror of knowing what she’d gone through all those years ago and then her suicide. It would’ve been a simple RTA. It would’ve been a tragic accident. Did they blame him for everything that happened? Did they have the same niggling doubts that he had? They hadn’t asked any awkward questions and even asked how he was. Why did horrendous things happen to such nice people? He couldn’t answer any of his questions.

 

Mary heard the door open and looked up. Her anger was still there. The alcohol and Ann hadn’t been able to quieten her down. “Look, Ann. It’s the hero of the hour.” 

 

When he felt Mary’s sting directed at him, he was going to turn around but she didn’t get him the chance as she stepped right in front of him. 

 

Mary’s anger now focused entirely on Boyd. “Why did you let her go?”

 

“Mary, please ….” Ann tried to stop Mary. It wasn’t fair to the policeman. Mary was upset and angry and was lashing out at every target in range. 

 

“Mary, I ....” Peter had asked himself that question a million times. Already feeling guilty, he didn’t need this. He could barely face Helen’s parents. They’d been very kind but he couldn’t understand why they hadn’t accused him like Mary was doing at the moment.

 

“Look at you! You’re a big bloke so how could you let her jump?” accused Mary. 

 

“Mary, don’t ….” Ann sniffled. 

 

Peter put a comforting hand on Ann’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Ann.” 

 

Ann burst into tears. She couldn’t take anymore of this and ran back inside.

 

“You’re the police and you let those bastards go.” She spat at Boyd, literally and figuratively,[.] “Too much paperwork was it?”

 

There were people sitting on the benches, looking very uncomfortable. They didn’t need to hear this. He took her by the arm and dragged her into his car.

 

“No, it wasn’t like that.” 

 

“They’re rich. So did they buy you off then?”

 

Boyd tried to calm her down, but she’d completely lost it. Mary was now hysterical, ranting and raving. Boyd wished Grace was here. He had no idea what to say. The only thing he could think of doing was to wrap his arms around her and hold her. 

 

She tried to fight him off, punching and bucking, but he was stronger and held her close, not letting her go. At one stage, she bumped his nose with her head and it started to drip blood again as she fought for him to release her, but he didn’t loosen his grip on her.

 

Mary knew she wasn’t going to win this battle but she had a plan to win the war. If she pretended to give in, cry a bit then he might release her. So she thought of the time when her father had died, stopped fighting Boyd and allowed herself to wail like a baby. 

 

Peter held onto her as she cried herself out, hopeful that the worst had passed.

 

Eventually, Mary sat back in her seat. She passed Boyd a tissue to dab his nose and apologized, “Sorry about that.” 

 

“That’s all right. I’ll take you home.” 

 

After getting Grace, they drove Mary home. 

 

While Grace and Mary talked, Boyd made some coffee and sandwiches. They stayed until Mary had something to eat and drink and then the couple left, satisfied that Mary had calmed down. 

 

\- - -

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

“Oh my God!” Ann looked to the heavens and prayed.

 

“It’s fucking gone,” Mary’s brother, Daniel, repeated, looking very worried. He’d been a squadie in Iraq and brought back a souvenir, and a very illegal one at that. An Iragi 9mm semi-automatic pistol. He was going to be in deep shit. Last night, Mary had called Daniel up, asking to stay at his flat, saying that she couldn’t bear to be on her own without Helen. Dan had been happy to help his grieving sister. He’d met Helen and had liked her. But now he knew it had just been a plan for Mary to get hold of the weapon. 

 

“And Mary was the only one who knew you had it?” Ann asked.

 

“Yes. I didn’t show any of my mates.”

 

“Mary was very angry and upset after Helen’s funeral, but she seemed to be all right last night after Dr Foley had talked to her.” 

 

“How angry?”

 

“Looking for blood angry.”

 

“This is bad.” Daniel felt sick to his stomach. His sister has fired the same type of pistol before during an open day for families at his barracks and she’d done very well. It was an easy to fire, short range but very lethal weapon. 

 

“Steven Banks.”

 

“Yep.” 

 

“I’ll ring Mr Boyd. He can warn Banks.”

 

~~~

 

“Bloody hell!” Grace swore after getting all the details from Ann. 

 

“What’s happened?”

 

“Mary’s got a 9mm pistol.” 

 

“Shit!” Boyd swore. “Banks!” He turned on his blue and red lights and siren and sped off toward Steven Banks’ apartment. It was lucky that they weren’t all that far from his building. 

 

Grace phoned Spence to tell him to get things moving on his end. 

 

~~~

 

Boyd screeched the car to halt outside the building. They’d beaten the ARV and the local plods.

 

There were only four apartments on Banks’ floor, the sixteenth, so it didn’t take long for the manager to begin the evacuation using the intercom. After giving Boyd the master electronic key, the manager got the residents to wait outside and stopped people entering the building until more police arrived

 

Boyd pressed the button in the lift. As the lift rose, so did the tension. Grace was a trained hostage negotiator and Boyd had been involved in several and was very experienced, but each situation was unique and very stressful. Stepping closer to the door, they watched the numbers light up. Grace reached for Peter’s hand for a second before releasing it as the doors opened. They didn’t look at each other but the simple gesture reassured them both. 

 

Banks’ apartment was at the end of the corridor. 

 

The DSI put his ear to the door and listened. He could just hear a TV but no signs of life. Boyd inserted the key and opened the door slowly. With Boyd in front, they slowly entered the flat. 

 

They walked straight into the living room to find the TV on but no sign of Banks or Mary. It was an open plan so they could see into the dining room area and kitchen. That left the two bedrooms and the bathroom. 

 

They were about to open the bedroom door when Steven walked out of the bathroom.

 

“Shit!” Banks looked shocked then angry. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

Grace’s heart skipped a beat when Steven came out unexpectedly, but she quickly recovered. “Mr Banks, we’re sorry to ….”

 

Steven didn’t even look at Grace. He glared at Boyd. Was he here to arrest him? Maybe he was here for something more sinister. “Boyd, you better leave before I …..” 

 

Ignoring Banks, Boyd checked the other rooms while Grace stayed with Banks.

 

Banks tried to lie to get them to leave. “I have guests coming in a few minutes.”

 

“As much as it pains me, Mr Banks,” Boyd sneered, “We’re here to protect you.”

 

“Protect me?”

 

“Yes.” Boyd stepped toward him until he was right in his face. “For some reason and perhaps you’ll tell me why one day, someone blames you for Helen Chandler’s death and wants revenge.”

 

“You’re joking?”

 

“No, Mr Banks, we’re not.” As much as Boyd would love to see this man get what he deserves, he had a duty to protect him and to make sure that Mary didn’t ruin her life forever by killing Banks. He was far more interested in the latter than the former.

 

Grace stepped in. “If you’d come with us to CCU, you’ll be safe there until the person has been found.” She could almost see the sparks of anger between the two men.

 

“I don’t believe you.” Boyd acted like he didn’t care if Steve lived or died. 

 

“Grace, let’s go” Boyd pointed to the door. “If he wants to be killed then we can’t force him.” He genuinely had enough of him. 

 

“Come on, Mr Banks. Believe us.” Grace opened the door a little. 

 

After hearing the door open, Mary was glad that the bastard was in but a little angry that Boyd and Grace were there. She didn’t care. She wasn’t going to hurt them - only Banks. But they weren’t going to stop her plan.

 

Mary took a few steps back and then ran up and shoulder charged the door, sending Grace flying against a wall while she burst into the apartment. Growing up with three brothers had taught her how to be tough when she need to.

 

“You better believe it, you bastard.” Mary pointed the weapon at Banks. 

 

Gasping, Grace collapsed to her knees. The breath had been knocked out of her.

 

“Don’t move.” Mary waved the gun toward Banks. 

 

Banks didn’t move a muscle. 

 

“Put the gun down!” Boyd ordered, advancing on Mary. 

 

Mary switched aim to Boyd. “Don’t move!” 

 

“Put. The. Gun. Down,” Boyd repeated slowly. 

 

“Get back! I don’t want to shoot you but I will.” Mary backed away, but Boyd kept coming. She had no choice. They all needed to know that she was serious. She fired. The bullet smashed into the window just to the left of Boyd’s shoulder, partly shattering it.

 

Holding her side, Grace recovered enough to walk back into the living space, although she felt like a horse had kicked her. Her timing was terrible. She saw Mary fire at Boyd and all she could do was scream. “No! Boyd!”

 

Boyd didn’t flinch and took another step forward. “Mary ….”

 

Through accident or design, Mary had missed Peter. Grace sighed in relief. But now she pissed off with Boyd. “Boyd! Stop!” yelled Grace, hoping that Boyd would stop testing Mary. He was going to get hurt if he didn’t stop. The poor young woman was unstable enough without Boyd adding to it.

 

Boyd stopped. He looked back and forth between the two women. Both were formidable when provoked. He threw his hands up and backed off to stand next to Grace. “All right .…”

 

Banks couldn’t believe it. Boyd could’ve taken the gun from her. “You could’ve got .…” 

 

“Shut up, Banks!” Both Grace and Mary yelled together.

 

Banks retreated a few steps too. 

 

“Mr Boyd, close and lock the front door.” Mary walked around the room to where she could see all three.

 

After doing what she asked, Boyd walked back into the living room and stood next to Grace but a half a pace in front, so he could protect her if Mary started shooting. 

 

“Are you okay?” Mary asked Grace.

 

“I think so.” Grace clutched at her side, but already the pain was abating. 

 

“Good.” It wasn’t Mary’s intention to hurt any one other than Banks. She waved to the dining table. “Over there. All of you.”

 

Banks didn’t think she was going to shoot anyone. Stupid bloody woman, he thought. 

 

When Banks hadn’t moved, Boyd pushed him. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

 

“Listen to Mr Boyd, you prick!” Mary spat. “Banks, move the chair by the window and place it a metre from the table.”

 

Banks moved the chair as instructed. 

 

“Sit down. Hands behind your back, you arsehole.” Mary slid off her backpack and without loosing eye contact with them; she opened the bag and tossed Boyd four large cable ties. “Tie him to the chair. Tightly. ”

 

Boyd enjoyed seeing Banks grimace as he tightened the cable ties around his wrists and ankles.

 

With one hand still pointing the gun at Boyd, Mary removed a laptop out of her bag and placed it one the table. “Start it up and then click on the webcam icon.”

 

Grace had a good idea now what Mary’s plan was. She was going to tape Banks’ confession or maybe have him read out some statement acknowledging his guilt. 

 

“It’s open.”

 

“Press the live button and move it until that bastard is in the frame.”

 

Steven Banks looked uncomfortable but defiant. No court will ever accept this as evidence. 

 

“Done,” said Boyd, following her instructions while they weren’t harming any one. He’d try to talk to her if he could.

 

“Sit over there, Mr Boyd.”

 

Mary waited until the DSI had sat down next to Banks, where she could see him, but far away enough to not be in the webcam field, and then she checked all the settings were correct and the image focused. Once she hit the record button, it would be streaming live on the internet and everyone would know what he’d done.

 

“Banks, you’re going to answer my questions.” Mary pressed the record button. 

 

Banks just glared at Mary. She had a gun, but not the balls to use it, he thought.

 

“This is Mary Carr from London, England speaking. The man sitting here is Steven Banks.” Mary looked at him. “Tell the world what you did to Helen Chandler.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Defiantly, Banks jutted out his jaw and stared back at Mary.

 

Mary pointed the pistol at his head. “I won’t ask you again.”

 

“Don’t, Mary.” Boyd spoke softly. Looking at her, Boyd knew this wasn’t going to end well. She held the pistol like an expert, her hand wasn’t shaking and she wasn’t nervous or jumpy at all.

 

“Answer the question!”

 

“I don’t know anything.” Banks sniggered. 

 

She aimed the pistol and fired. 

 

“Shit!” Banks jumped as much as he could. He’d felt the heat of the bullet as it whizzed his ear.

 

More glass shattered from the already damaged window. Mary had only just missed Banks’ head by centimetres. 

 

“The next one won’t miss!”

 

Boyd knew she meant it. “Mary …. don’t do this.”

 

“This is the only thing I can think about.” Mary’s anger erupted as she yelled at Boyd, “You know what they did it to her ….”

 

“I know …” Boyd knew that Mary was losing control again. He had to try to calm things down again.

 

“At the end of all this, you’re going to arrest me. Makes sense - I’m innocent, but you let the guilty rapists go! The police?” Mary scoffed and then swore, “Fucking lot of good they did for Helen.”

 

“I’m sorry ….”

 

“I know they’ve done it to other girls. A friend heard them talking in a pub. They laughed at my Helen.” Mary gripped the pistol harder, pointing it directly between Bank’s eyes.

 

“Mary, please,” Grace pleaded this time. 

 

“You know he raped her.” 

 

“I think so, but I can’t prove it.” Peter admitted.

 

“Proof? I know what they did it to her. You both know they did.”

 

“But .…” 

 

“I don’t need to convince a judge or jury.” She waved the gun between the laptop and Bank’s head. “I’ve got this now.” 

 

Peter had been doing a good job of keeping calm but Grace thought that Mary was beyond reason. Mary wasn’t really listening to what either Boyd or Grace tried to say, acting only with her more basic emotions.

 

“I’m sorry, but I do.” Boyd knew she was angry and had every right to be. Sometimes it seemed the system worked in favour of the perpetrator and not the victim. He hoped that yelling at him would get it out her system and then she’d calm down. 

 

“No! I need to make him pay for what he did to Helen.” Why couldn’t she have her revenge on Banks and his mates? She didn’t want to calmly accept it like Ann. She wanted to scream it to the skies what Banks and these other men had done and make them pay. She wanted everyone to know what type of men they were and what they had done to Helen. “He killed Helen and now I am going to kill him.”

 

Boyd knew that killing Banks wouldn’t solve anything at all. “You don’t want to do that. It won’t bring her back.”

 

“I saw the look on your face. You wanted to kill them too.”

 

“No.” He couldn’t look at her.

 

“LIAR!”

 

Reluctantly, he admitted it, “All right. Part of me wanted to kill them too, but I know that’s wrong.”

 

“Ha! I knew it,” she said triumphantly. She was pleased that she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. She’d thought of nothing else since she saw Helen’s body on the clear canopy outside Ann’s building. 

 

“Did you love her?” Grace asked softly.

 

“Yes. Very much.” More than anything in the world, she added to herself. 

 

“So what would Helen think of you doing this?”

 

“That’s the point. She can’t think. She’s dead!” Mary spun to face Boyd. “She was raped by him and then she killed herself. Remember?”

 

“Do you think I’ve forgotten that?” Now Boyd was angry. He shouldn’t have, but he reacted on impulse. He’d had that as a recurring nightmare. He tried to calm down by softening his voice. “I was on the roof, Mary.”

 

“Then let me take revenge on that bastard.”

 

Boyd shook his head, despite part of him wanting very much to do so. He tried to change the focus back onto her. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re in shock. Grace could help you ….”

 

“No! I don’t want a fucking psychologist. I don’t want to forget. I’m angry. And what I want is to ….” Mary stopped suddenly. She’d lost track of why she was here and pointed the weapon at Banks. “Banks, talk! This is your last chance.” But then she shifted aim and fired out the window, shattering it completely.

 

Banks looked at her. She was a pathetic lesbian. “Look, you stupid woman ….” 

 

Boyd held his breath, unable to look away, despite knowing what was about to come. 

 

“Argghhh!” Mary altered her aim downward and fired.

 

Banks screamed in agony. She’d shot him in the right foot. Banks whimpered now. He was sure she’d blown his foot off, the pain was so terrible. Sweat dribbled down his temples. The crazy bitch really meant it. 

 

“Talk, Banks!” Mary aimed further up his leg. 

 

“For God’s sake, Steven. Start talking.” Grace had seen the bullet hit his foot. He was going to get it again if he didn’t start talking.

 

Blood seeped onto the wooden floor.

 

The pain in his foot had become manageable. Banks looked at this Mary cow with disdain. He didn’t say anything.

 

Mary fired again. 

 

Banks screamed in agony. His left thigh had been hit – it felt like it was being burnt from the inside out. He panted, his whole body trembled in shock and his visions started to blur. 

 

Grace swallowed down the bile that rose sharply from her stomach. It was horrific.

 

“I’ve got seven more bullets, you bastard. Where do you want it next?”

 

Banks knew he was in trouble now. He’d have to talk if he wanted to live. He’d blame it all on Ian. “All right. Please. No more. I’ll talk. I promise. It was all Ian Powell’s idea.” 

 

“I knew it. Go on.” Mary felt justified. It was a wonderful feeling. Helen would get the justice she deserved.

 

Banks told them every sordid detail, from the approximate dates to the locations of where they’d abducted the girls. He even told them who’d supplied them with the drugs. 

 

All Boyd could do was to shake his head as Banks spoke. It was just unbelievable what these men had done. Had they really believed that these women were nothing? Did they still believe that for women in general? Probably, he answered to himself, be the way they’d treated the women. Why they thought that was something he never understood despite growing up at time when discrimination of all types had been almost institutionalized. His philosophy had always been it shouldn’t matter what a person was as long as they could do the job.

 

Grace felt sorry for all those young women who had no idea what had happened to them. It would be impossible to trace them. Most of the girls would’ve thought they’d had a big night and couldn’t remember what had happened. Maybe it was best that they didn’t know what had happened to them, if Helen Chandler’s reaction was the result.

 

Mary turned the laptop toward herself. “Thank you, Banks, for confessing to your crimes. I’m sure justice will now be served.” Mary pressed the stop button and closed the laptop, glad that it was all over. 

 

“Please, Mary, the pistol?” Boyd held out his hand. He hoped that she wouldn’t kill him now that she’d gotten what she wanted, but he wasn’t sure. Peter didn’t want Mary going to gaol for life. At the moment, it was serious but she had some justification for her actions. After Banks told them everything, Mary seemed to calm again. 

 

Mary looked at the gun. She didn’t need it any more and passed it to Boyd, who unloaded it, making it safe. 

 

Boyd and Grace relaxed a little. The DSI called for an ambulance and then rang Spence to tell him to stand the ARV down and send the local plods home. 

 

After Boyd cut the cable ties, Banks wiggled his hands to get rid of the pins and needles. He was lightheaded, thirsty and tired but he was alive, and despite being shot, he felt good because there was no way any of that would come to trial. He’d say he was tortured, would be in the clear even it came to court. 

 

Grace found a towel and wrapped it around Banks’ thigh wound. 

 

Boyd looked again at Mary. By rights, he should arrest her, but he didn’t have the heart. She looked lost, standing by the corner of the table, not moving, just staring out the window. So much had happened to her that it was no wonder she snapped. Hopefully she’d find someone like Grace who’d help her to recover. 

 

Mary blinked and she refocused. Boyd and Grace were standing next to each other, their shoulders barely touching. The look on their faces when Boyd’s hand wrapped around Grace’s was just perfect. It was a simple gesture but it was what Mary thought love was all about and it was what she’d had with Helen. But now that was gone. Her heart was empty and she knew that it would never be full again.

 

A tear welled up. She couldn’t look at them any more. It broke her heart. The tear wended its way down her cheek. 

 

“Peter, I’m going to take Mary out of here.” Grace saw the tear drip down on Mary’s face. 

 

Banks looked at Mary, crying. 

 

Stirred by Grace talking, Mary looked around and saw Banks. He laughed at her. She could tell. He thought she was nothing. He’d thought Helen was nothing. Now Helen was nothing and Mary was nothing without Helen.

 

Stupid cow, Banks sniggered to himself. He hoped they locked away the key and never let her out.

 

All it took was that snigger from Banks and Mary lost her mind all together, and charged at Banks like a rabid rugby player. In a mess of tangled arms and legs, together they tumbled backwards, over the smashed window’s railing and into space, before Boyd or Grace had time to react. 

 

Banks screamed and flailed helplessly all the way down, while Mary welcomed death, willingly and with open arms because she finally found peace, knowing that she would be soon joining the love of her life, Helen.

 

Blankly, Boyd and Grace just stood there, looking at the window, not believing what had just happened.

 

\- - -

 

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

So this is what it felt like to be a suspect, Grace wondered. She shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position on the deliberately uncomfortable chairs. It was no wonder she thought so many suspects looked dodgy as they squirmed about on the chair like she’d been doing. For over an hour, the DPC made her wait, which was another tactic straight out of the interrogator’s handbook. Would they adjust the climate controls to make it colder or hotter, or try the good cop-bad cop routine that American TV cop shows favour so much next? It wasn’t Guantanamo Bay so she didn’t think it could get any more unpleasant.

 

All she really wanted to do was to go home. She was bone numbingly tired and she’d had enough. 

 

She should’ve been happy because they’d solved a murder and a detected a pack of rapists. On the one hand, she was glad that Dianne Hunter and Mark Hassell were currently getting to know their cells in the remand centre, awaiting their trial, but on the other, they’d failed Helen Chandler so miserably. Two suicides and a murder was not a good result by any one’s books. 

 

At last, Grace was grateful that she didn’t have to wait any longer as the interview room door opened and in walked a man, and then a few seconds later, ACC Dyson. It was only then did Grace realize how unpleasant it could get. 

 

Grace was here because she was a witness. It was Peter who was in trouble on two fronts. One because technically, Mary Carr’s and Steven Banks’ death had been a death in custody and that had required a DPC investigation and nobody in the right mind liked DPC inquiries. And the other was that Dyson had taken a personal interest in the case As Boyd was a DSI, the officer in charge of the investigation had to be of equivalent or higher rank, so she assumed the man was a DSI or DCS. Dyson’s remit was the DPC so that could be the reason why she was here, or more likely, it had something to do with her feud with Boyd.

 

Dyson just smiled at Grace but the profiler ignored her.

 

The man started the interview. “Interview started at 1645. DCS Allan Cook, 2IC DPC, present as well as .…”

 

“ACC Dyson, OIC DPC, and ….” 

 

“Dr Grace Foley, CCU.” 

 

And so for the next hour, DCS Cook had Grace talk him through everything that had happened in the flat and all the events leading up to what had happened. His questions were thorough, focusing on the state of mind of those involved. As far as Grace was concerned, they were routine questions for a forensic psychologist like herself. In Grace’s mind, it seemed that the DCS thought it was a clear what had happened.

 

She should have realized that Dyson might have had other ideas.

 

“We have eyewitness statements and Banks’ own complaint against Boyd, saying he threatened him in the days before his death?” Dyson had remained silent while Cook had done his job. Now it was her turn to deep a bit deeper. She didn’t believe their story and she had some evidence that pointed that way.

 

“Are you really going to believe a self-confessed rapist and his rapist friends over DSI Boyd?” 

 

“That man was being tortured. He’d have said anything to save himself,” Dyson retorted and then fired one back, “Did Boyd shot Banks?” 

 

“No.”

 

“His fingerprints were on the weapon.”

 

“Mary gave it to DSI Boyd and then he made it safe.” Grace used Peter’s full rank. She was going to let her take cheap shots.

 

“Why?”

 

“DSI Boyd asked her for the gun after Banks confessed and he is a trained SFO.” 

 

“How do you explain the firearms residue all over him?”

 

“If you can remember,” Grace sneered angrily at the ACC, “I just said he unloaded it, and before that, I said that at the start, Mary fired at Boyd, purposely missing to get him to do what she wanted, and when Banks was shot, Boyd was sitting next to him; so naturally, he’d be covered in it.”

 

“In the recording, you can only see Banks. We have only your word where Boyd was. And we all know where your loyalties lie.” Dyson turned to her colleague. “Allan, you probably don’t know this but DSI Boyd and Dr Foley have been living together for some time.” 

 

To Allan Cook, it was relevant but not important. 

 

Seething Grace ignored her barb. “Yes, but it’s the truth.” She wanted to add ‘you stupid cow’ but didn’t. Dyson wasn’t worth it.

 

“Did Boyd push Banks out the window?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you sure? Boyd has a reputation ….”

 

“Of course, I’m sure. I was there not two metres away from where it all happened. He did not push Banks out.”

 

“Why didn’t he try and stop Mary?”

 

“It all happened too quickly. One second, Mary had been motionless, and the next, a blur of speed.” 

 

“What about Mary? Did Boyd push her?”

 

Make up your mind on who your think pushed whom, you silly cow, Grace wanted to scream. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? No, he did not push Mary or Banks out.” Grace’s first clenched until her fingernails left crescent shaped marks in her palms. She tried to remain calm, but now she wanted to hit the cow. “Look, you cold hearted ….” 

 

“All right, interview terminated 1835.” Cook weathered Dyson’s look. The line of questioning went on long enough. To him, it seemed a cut and dry case of murder /suicide and there was no real evidence to a pin it on Boyd. And it was clear to him now that the rumours of something personal between these were true. DCS Boyd and Dr Foley just happened to have had the misfortune of witnessing such a terrible event twice in a matter of days. God only knows how he’d cope seeing such horrible deaths. “Dr Foley, you can go. I’ll have an officer escort you out.”

 

“Has DSI Boyd been interview yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then I want to wait.”

 

“Okay. I’ll have escorted to the waiting room.”

 

“Thank you, DCS Cook.” Grace stood up and without acknowledging that Dyson had even been in the room, she followed the man out of the interview room.

 

~~~

 

Just before eight o’clock at night, a tired looking Boyd came into the waiting room where Grace and team had been sitting patiently awaiting their boss’ return. 

 

On seeing Grace, Peter walked up to her and hugged her. It was against the strictly professional approach at work but under the circumstances, he needed it and he thought she might too. When the couple lightly kissed each other, Spence, Stella and Eve found their shoes amazingly enthralling. 

 

Boyd released her but still held her hand. “Are you okay?’

 

“Yes. You?” 

 

“Yeah. I just have to wait for the DPC’s report.”

 

“You’ll be fine.” She smiled wickedly. “But I could’ve punched that bitch, Dyson.”

 

“Grace …. ” Boyd shook his head, pretending to be disappointed. He wanted to do the same thing.

 

“I know. I know,” Grace apologized. “But counting to ten and saying ‘calm blue oceans’ over and over just didn’t work.”

 

Boyd grinned in agreement. He then turned to his wonderful team. “Thank you for staying with Grace.” He was grateful to all of them. He didn’t want Grace to face it all alone, especially when ACC Dyson had made it very clear that she’d be going after him for murder.

 

“That’s all right, Boyd,” Eve said with a smile. 

 

“My pleasure, sir,” Stella responded.

 

Spence just nodded, sharing the other two’s sentiments. “Your Audi’s in the car park, second floor, near the fire escape.” He reluctantly handed over the keys. It was a great car. “Nice car, by the way.”

 

“Thanks.” He took the keys and placed them in his suit pocket. He was grateful that London’s city traffic was mostly reduced to crawl so he shouldn’t receive any unexpected speeding fines. “How are you getting home?”

 

“I’m sure one these beautiful ladies would drive me.” A full dimple smile usually worked with the ladies at his favourite clubs and it might for his workmates too. 

 

“Stop it, Spence! I’ll drive you.” Eve shook her head. She could only handle so much sugary sweetness in one day and she’d already endured Boyd and Grace kissing. 

 

“All right. Have the morning off and I’ll see around lunch time tomorrow.”

 

“Sir?” Stella wondered if she’d heard correctly while Spence and Eve gulped like fish out of water, both not believing what they’d heard.

 

Boyd and Grace disappeared in to the lift. For Boyd, it was good to keep the team on their toes by being unpredictable.

 

\- - -

 

Epilogue:

 

A month later ….

 

“Grace, I had a memo from Dyson today,” Boyd said casually, as he twirled a finger through her hair. 

 

“What does that bitch want now? “ Grace still remembered, only a month ago, the dirty looks and snide comments directed at her and Peter after the DPC had cleared them in their report on the Bank’s and Mary’s death. She might start bring in a new rule – they weren’t to allow to speak her name in their house. 

 

“Calm down, Grace. It’s nothing like that.” Peter shook his head while patting her shoulder. He had his arm around her shoulder as they relaxed on lounge. Dyson could make anyone angry, even the normally composed like Grace. 

 

Grace released her death grip on her glass of wine and put it on the table. He was up to something. “Okay, since you’d already hooked me, what is it?”

 

“She sent out an email to all units and commands encouraging all personnel to take their leave promptly and not to accumulate it excessively.’”

 

Grace guffawed. Police, and especially detectives, had to be one of the hardest working groups she’d ever known. Their work ethic was unbelievable, but it came at a price, mainly to their social and family life. Most detectives didn’t have one. Their job was their life and she could say that was the case for Boyd and even herself, but at least she got to see Peter every day. Most partners didn’t. 

 

Grace then wondered what would have been his response been. It could range from the mild - a terse reply stating CCU was his to run as he saw fit and stop interfering in it, inserting an insult or two of his choice spoken under his breath, to an angry one, like throwing the computer against the wall in disgust. She’d think the latter was the most unlikely. “Do you still have a PC?”

 

Peter chuckled, knowing exactly what she was thinking for a change. “Yes, I do and it’s still in one piece.” 

 

“And so what does this mean exactly?”

 

“In a couple of weeks, this.” Peter took out an envelope from his pants and passed it to her. “How about we take a week off?” Using the most ridiculous French accent he could muster, mixing together French words with English because he couldn’t remember a lot of his schoolboy French, he said, “We’ll voir le Rouge play Olympique de Marseille at the Stade Vélodrome.”

 

Grace opened the envelope and took out two tickets to a Champion’s League game in France, Liverpool against Olympic Marseille, perfect seats, at the half way line, one tier up. Her heart skipped a beat. It had to be one of the best presents she’d ever had. 

 

In a flash, she straddled him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, with everything that she had.

 

Breathless, they pulled apart.

 

“Peter, I love you.” She sat back, her hands on his shoulders, for support. 

 

He’d wanted to make her happy and he appeared to have done that but so much more as well. The way she looked at him after the kiss was amazing. She was so beautiful with her sexy smile, her lips swollen, her face flushed and a glint in her eye. It excited him. “I know. Love you too.” His hands held her sides and his thumbs flicked across her hardened nipples. 

 

Grace moaned sensually. 

 

“We’ll watch Liverpool win. We can have Bouillabaisse by the seaside, we can drink pastis and bordeaux and I can have my evil way with you, and vice versa.” 

 

“Hmmmm ….” Grace pictured it all in her mind - a big Liverpool victory, beautiful scenery, magnificent French food and drink, and making love with Peter. All the best things in life.

 

“So you like my plan?” 

 

Grace didn’t have to think about. It was wonderful and very romantic. She ground her hips across his now obvious arousal in definite approval at the entire plan. She wanted him now. “Oh, yes!”

 

It was Peter’s turn to groan.

 

They kissed again, their tongues dancing together. 

 

Her hands combed through his hair as she moved her hips against his. She continued kissing and biting down his neck and then back up toward his ear. Feeling so excited made Grace bold and she decided to improve on his plan and she knew in her heart that he’d approve. She whispered into his ear, “Make it two weeks and consider it our honeymoon.”

 

Pushing her back up, Peter stared at Grace, not quite believing what he’d just heard. How could he possibly concentrate when the woman he loved so much had been kissing him voraciously while dry humping him nearly to completion? “Sorry? Did you say ….”

 

“Yes, you heard correctly.” Grace caressed his shoulders. “I’m hoping you will say yes, too.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes to what exactly?” 

 

“Oh, God! Yes to you. Always and forever. God only knows what I’d be without you, Grace. Wherever you are is where I want to be.” He cupped her face and said from the heart, “Grace. I love you.” He then kissed her tenderly.

 

“Thank you.” Grace smiled warmly. “And the two weeks?”

 

“I’ll speak to your boss. I don’t know. He’s got a fearsome reputation.”

 

“Hmmm …. Perhaps I can bribe him?” Boyd was a pussy cat and she knew which buttons to push. Grace whispered in his ear what she could offer by way of enticement.

 

Gasping at Grace’s tantalizing plan, Boyd’s hunger for her exploded. He stood up and took her by the hand and led her up to their bedroom. “Better try that out first ….”

 

\- - - 

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note 1 – I wish to acknowledge one last time, Shadow, for being a terrific beta and encouraging me.  
> Author’s Note 2 – Originally, the GOK title meant that I had no idea what the title was going to be because I’m no good at selecting titles for my stories, but then as the story developed, I rediscovered a great song, GOK from the Beach Boys. I recommend that you go to youtube and listen to it. It’s brilliant.  
> God Only Knows by the Beach Boys, lyrics by Tony Asher, composed by Brian Wilson
> 
> I may not always love you  
> But long as there are stars above you  
> You never need to doubt it  
> Ill make you so sure about it
> 
> God only knows what Id be without you
> 
> If you should ever leave me  
> Though life would still go on believe me  
> The world could show nothing to me  
> So what good would living do me
> 
> God only knows what Id be without you
> 
> God only knows what Id be without you
> 
> If you should ever leave me  
> Well life would still go on believe me  
> The world could show nothing to me  
> So what good would living do me
> 
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows what Id be without you  
> God only knows  
> God only knows what Id be without you


End file.
